The Soul of the Guardian
by JennaEf
Summary: Sometimes Merlin wondered if being a Guardian was a blessing or a curse... Or, a story of how agent Excalibur became Merlin, how he met his soulmate, and why three is not always a crowd. SoulmateAU, platonic soulmates
1. Revelations and Incidents

**This is my first foray into Kingsman fandom. I'm not abandoning Sherlock, though.**  
 **Feedback very much appreciated. Also looking for beta reader.**

Sometimes Merlin wondered if being a Guardian was a blessing or a curse.  
In his childhood, when he was told about his nature and life purpose, it came as quite a shock. He wasn't ready for that; couldn't imagine dedicating his entire life to being someone's guide and protector. Luckily for him, his Granny was a wise woman and managed to help him come to grips with such a daunting perspective. She taught him how to harness his gift and showed him how wonderful a life of a committed Guardian could be.  
He, of course, wasn't one of those people who saw life through the rose-tinted glasses. Anything could go wrong – most of things, in Alasdair experience, certainly did. But, on the other hand, who said he couldn't be the lucky exception? People tended to believe in miracles, after all.  
Armed with these skills and knowledge, young Alasdair Hamish McKinnon (although he disliked his middle name with passion) prepared himself for waiting, however long it might be. Not to mention that Granny warned him there were clear signs of him having not one but two charges (or Satellites, as the Guardian's life partners were called) in his life. Took him a while to get used to such bomb of information, but, somewhere at the back of his mind, he always knew he had been destined for something extraordinary. And wasn't the whole thing just a perfect confirmation to that?  
As he had suspected, waiting took some time – six years, to be exact. Everything changed as soon as he turned eighteen: his uncle Maxwell told him about a secret spy agency named Kingsman, and asked Alasdair if he was willing to become a Kingsman knight. The young Scotsman, being rational and level-headed, asked for an opportunity to think everything through, agreeing meanwhile to sign the non-disclosure agreement. While doing that, he found out his uncle's codename – Gawain.  
He remembered asking if he was supposed to get a codename too, and seeing his uncle's expression turn sad.  
"Excalibur," the older man replied curtly, and Alasdair dropped the subject, feeling a wave of deep sorrow sweep over him, leaving him hurting and gasping in shock.  
He might have passed out at some point, because next thing he knew was being cradled in his uncle's arms and rocked soothingly.  
"I'm sorry, my dear boy," Maxwell placed a kiss on Alasdair's temple. "Agatha told me you manifested as a Guardian, but I had no idea you were empathic as well. Perhaps I shouldn't have offered..."  
"No!" Alasdair protested, trying to pull himself upright and discovering with surprise his body's reluctance to obey his mind's orders. "No, uncle, I want to do it, please!"  
The older man chuckled, fondly ruffling his nephew's hair and patting his cheek. "Alright, lad. But we need to schedule a preliminary training – I'm not going to throw you to the wolves unprepared."  
"Whatever you think is necessary, I'll do it," Alasdair finally managed to get his body under control and pulled out of Maxwell's embrace, looking at the older man with barely concealed excitement. "You wouldn't be disappointed, uncle, I promise."  
Maxwell chuckled again and stood up, patting the younger man on the shoulder. "I don't doubt that, lad. Now let me make some calls, and we shall see if I can get you pencilled in for the beginning of your training…"  
Next two months for Alasdair went in a blur: preliminary training turned to be quite extensive and covered everything from computer technologies to weapons and hand-to-hand combat. There were even a few lessons on seduction techniques; Alasdair hasn't been overly fond of them, but Maxwell explained that it was an unavoidable part of the job, and the younger man accepted it as a necessary evil.  
With all these lessons under his belt, the young Scotsman breezed through tests without any problems. Except maybe the last one – Alasdair figured out the bullets were blanks, but it hadn't made the whole situation any better. Took him almost a week afterwards to make peace with Sparky, his golden retriever, and he was overjoyed when his dog finally forgave him.  
Still, here he was – a newly instated Kingsman knight with his place at the Table, already assigned a mission halfway across the world. All new knights started with easy missions – surveillance, mostly, - and then progressed towards more serious stuff. Alasdair went the same way, and two years later had a reputation of a successful agent with more than twenty perfectly executed missions.  
And then everything in his life went tits up in a blink of an eye.  
It was supposed to be a sophisticated but clean-cut rescue-and-retrieve mission. Due to the complexity of the mission task the decision had been made to send a team consisting of Gawain, Galahad and Excalibur.  
All three done their parts with the usual precision, and were on their way to the extraction point, when their cover was blown and all hell suddenly broke loose.  
Gawain and Galahad did their best to protect both their mark and their young colleague, but unfortunately, this time their best just wasn't enough.  
When Alasdair regained consciousness a week later in Kingsman's medical wing, he found out that their mark and Galahad were dead, his uncle gravely injured, and his own career as a field agent ended for good because of a bullet rendering him paraplegic for undeterminable period of time.  
His future, gone in a flash.  
Kingsman medical branch, of course, did their best to resolve his problem with the damaged spinal cord, but, unfortunately, a human body wasn't just a mechanism that could be fixed with a couple of stitches. Despite an extensive rehab, Alasdair's body stubbornly refused to cooperate, so in the end he grudgingly accepted the hi-tech wheelchair and arranged for his personal belongings to be moved into his newly assigned lodgings at the HQ. He also was forced to entrust Sparky to Kingsman's kennels – there was no way he could care about his dog properly in his current damaged state.  
As soon as he more or less got his bearings, Arthur called him in for a long overdue post-mission briefing. When the young Scotsman arrived at the door of Chester King's office, there was another man waiting outside, one that Alasdair recognised as Kingsman's current Merlin, the chief handler and the head of tech department.  
After greeting each other they went into the office, and Chester, busy with the phone call, waved for them to come close and, in Merlin's case, take a seat at the table.  
The older wizard, however, first of all made sure Alasdair had no troubles manoeuvring towards the head of the table and parking there, then went around and took his own seat.  
The young ex-agent frowned, trying to make sense of the situation. One thing was for sure – this DEFINITELY wasn't the standard debrief.  
As if hearing his thoughts, Chester King finished his call and turned to look at Alasdair with an expression of polite concern on his face.  
"How are you feeling, Excalibur?" their Arthur enquired, making the young agent cringe in sudden annoyance.  
"With all due respect, Sir, I'm not exactly a part of the Table now, am I?" he looked straight into their King's eyes. "You can drop the codename."  
At this moment, Merlin cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "Actually, young man, that's exactly why I asked Arthur to schedule this meeting. I may have a job offer for you, if you have no objections against working for Kingsman tech department. I've seen your entry test result, and your skills will be quite in demand."  
It was Arthur's turn to clear his throat, and Merlin glanced at his boss, receiving a quick nod and answering with one of his own. Then he continued.  
"Long story short, in view of my impending retirement I would like to train you as my replacement, Alasdair. How do you feel about that?"  
"Also, while you are weighing all pros and cons," Chester interrupted, "I would like you to think about your proposals for yours, Galahad's, and Gawain's positions. You are allowed to collaborate with your uncle, of course."  
The young Scotsman was silent for a few moments, his gaze shifting between Arthur and Merlin. "That's a lot to take in, to tell the truth," he said finally. "Can I discuss it with my uncle?"  
"Of course, Excalibur," Arthur confirmed. "As for 'dropping your codename', it will happen only when your position is officially declared vacant."  
"And even then, you wouldn't be left without a codename," Merlin piped in. "I have one available at the moment. Galatine."  
Alasdair, who, of course, was familiar with Arthurian legends, grinned in reply. "How thoughtful of you, Sir. Sword of Gawain. My uncle's legacy."  
"Thought you'll appreciate the significance," the chief handler returned his grin. "Now, with Arthur's permission, you'd better be off to visit your uncle."  
"Permission granted," their King confirmed. "Besides, it would be beneficial for both of you. Be sure to submit your proposals in two days. Off you go, Excalibur."  
"Thank you, Sir," the young Scotsman manoeuvred his wheelchair back from the table and towards the door.  
The road to Maxwell's room in medical wing took Alasdair ten minutes, and soon he was opening the door and directing his wheelchair to his uncle's bed.  
The older man, propped up by multiple pillows, looked up from his Kingsman-issued tablet and smiled to his nephew. "Good to see you, lad. Merlin already sent me the feed from your meeting. Congratulations are in order, I guess?"  
"Glad to see you too, uncle," Alasdair parked his wheelchair and reached out to grasp Maxwell's hand. "Maybe, but I need to hear your opinion on the matter first."  
His uncle placed his other hand over Alasdair's, squeezing it lightly. "I think what you are needing to hear from me is the blessing, Dair. You've already decided, am I right?"  
Alasdair nodded, swallowing nervously. "Do you approve? I've heard so much about the tech department, it sounds pretty impressive."  
"It really is," Maxwell confirmed. "It's a good career choice, my boy. I'm proud of you. As for proposals, I have a small list just for the occasion. If you'll be able to shoulder a few meetings tomorrow, I can schedule them for you."  
Alasdair unconsciously squared his shoulders. "I'll manage, uncle."  
"Good lad," Maxwell praised, letting go of his nephew's hand and typing something into the tablet. "Here you go, invitations sent. All three of them will be there tomorrow at two, four and six P.M. accordingly."  
"Anything in particular I should pay attention to?" Alasdair enquired, pulling his own tablet from the compartment in his wheelchair and starting to scroll through his uncle's notes. "Or anyone?"  
"Good question, my boy," the older man nodded in approval. "Harold Hart, although I heard he prefers to go by 'Harry' nowadays."  
"What's so special about him?" the young Scotsman opened Hart's dossier. Dark-haired, good-looking, with an infectious smile and surprisingly attractive dimples on his cheeks. "Beside his fetching appearance, of course."  
"His grandfather held Galahad's position long time ago," Maxwell remarked. "He died in the line of duty, and Harold's father refused the position. But I think young Hart might be susceptible to our offer."  
Alasdair scrolled through numerous pages. "I can see your point. He's ambitious and reckless, but obviously has a clear and quick mind."  
"Taking a liking of him already, aren't you?" the older man smiled. "That's understandable, but do keep in mind that you should remain impartial. At least until he gets the position."  
Engrossed in reading, Alasdair missed his uncle's teasing, but the moment he caught up with it, his cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. "Uncle!"  
"You are a Guardian, lad; it's natural for you to seek out your potential Satellite," Maxwell raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement curling his lips into a smile. "Unless there's something you want to tell me…"  
"There's nothing," Alasdair said hastily, ducking his head to hide his flaming face. "You recommended me to pay attention to him, and I just…"  
"There's no need to apologise, my boy," Maxwell reached out and patted his nephew's arm, which caused Alasdair to risk raising his head in order to look at his uncle. "Our family has quite the history, and there was a Guardian in each generation, so I'm bloody proud of you, lad. Maybe it's the reason fate brought you into Kingsman. Agatha had some premonitions about your Satellites, and she said both of them appear to be male. For all we know, Harry Hart can easily be one of them."  
It was Alasdair's turn to wink and smile. "Are you trying your hand at matchmaking on my account, Sir?"  
"I'm a highly trained Kingsman, my boy," Maxwell grinned too. "That means I'm supposed to be a man of many talents, so why matchmaking can't be one of them?"  
"Reasonable," the young man agreed, resuming his reading. "So, Harry Hart as possible Galahad. What about yours and mine replacements?"  
"Bright young lads too, I think they would also fit," his uncle shifted, trying to move down from his half-sitting position. "Can you give me a hand with these pillows, Dair? I'm a bit tired, going to kip for a while. You should too, by the way, you look a bit pale."  
"Good idea," Alasdair helped his uncle to get more comfortable for his sleep. "I'm going to turn in too: there's a big day tomorrow, after all."  
"Mm-hm," Maxwell closed his eyes, his face smoothing out as sleep started to pull him under. "Come and tell me about everything afterwards, my boy."  
"Of course, uncle," Alasdair adjusted the older man's blanket, tucking him in. "Sleep well."  
"You too," came the mumbled reply, and the young Scotsman left the room, switching on the automatic navigation module in his wheelchair and allowing it to drive him to his quarters. He felt a bit sleepy too, so turning in seemed like the best idea at the moment.  
Once in his room, he went through his pre-sleeping routine on autopilot, and soon he was crawling into his bed and settling down.  
Sleep whisked him away from the world a moment later.  
Next morning had Alasdair waking up an hour before his alarm clock, habitually going through his usual routine and then spending half an hour choosing his suit and getting into it.  
With his first meeting scheduled at 2 o'clock, there was plenty of time to study all the dossiers more thoroughly, and maybe even pay a visit to the tech department to discuss some details about his upcoming training with Merlin.  
Truth be told, he wasn'treally eager to conduct those three interviews, even if one of the candidates could turn to be his Satellite. Compared to the opportunity to work with their resident wizard, it seemed like a meaningless waste of time, so Alasdair decided to make those meetings as short as possible.  
Grabbing his tablet, the young Scotsman once again pulled up the files, scrolling through them one by one and memorising necessary details. Due to his conversation with Maxwell, he paid special attention to Harry Hart's biography, thus completely failing to be impartial even before seeing his candidate eye-to-eye. If somebody at this exact moment decided to ask why he was so carelessly disregarding Kingsman long-time established rules, Alasdair would've just shrugged his shoulders and called it intuition; funnily enough, it was nothing but the truth. As soon as he saw Harry's photograph, a strange tingling sensation settled in his chest, starting from his heart and seemingly radiating upwards into his brain. First it happened yesterday, the moment he opened Hart's dossier the first time, and then the effect only grew stronger. It was a strange but quite pleasurable feeling, and Alasdair found himself succumbing to it more and more with each time.  
Maybe Maxwell was right. Maybe Harry Hart was his Satellite, which hypothetically meant half of his problem was solved. The rest could be dealt with on the way.  
His tablet beeped, bringing him out of his reverie, and Alasdair tapped the flashing "New message" icon. It was from Merlin – their resident wizard enquired if his potential successor would be able to pay a visit to his office during the next two hours.  
There was plenty of time till the first meeting, so the young agent typed 'Yes, will be there in a few', and a moment later was on his way to Merlin's sanctuary.  
The older man met him at the door, opening it wide as soon as Alasdair knocked.  
"Excalibur," he greeted, stepping aside and allowing the young agent to drive into the room.  
"Merlin," Alasdair responded, crossing the threshold and stopping to wait for the handler to close the door.  
"Would you mind me calling you by your first name, young man?" Merlin enquired, closing the door and waving Alasdair in the direction of the small break area. "Mine is Vincent, by the way."  
"Alasdair, or Dair for short," the young Scotsman replied, reaching his appointed destination and parking his wheelchair. "What is it you wanted to see me for, Sir?"  
The older man clicked his tongue in disapproval. "What did I just tell you? Call me Vince, Dair."  
"Vince," Dair tried the name carefully, his expression cautious. "You wanted to see me?"  
"Yes," the chief handler walked to his work station and retrieved his clipboard. "I have a bunch of files for you to study, Dair. They should help you to prepare for the qualification test. I would be much obliged if you started working on them today. After your scheduled meetings, of course," Vincent added, seeing that Alasdair was about to interrupt him.  
The younger man raised his eyebrow. "You are keeping tabs on me, Vince?"  
"Yes," Vincent admitted easily. "Not without old Maxwell's intervention, of course."  
"I suspected as much," Alasdair smiled. "So, what kind of files are we talking about?"  
"Straight to the point, just like your uncle," Merlin chuckled. "As for the files – well, it's a bit of everything, basically. Old Max assured me you can handle that."  
"Of course, no problem," the young agent shrugged his shoulders. "You're going to send the files to my tablet, right?"  
Merlin touched his clipboard with a few quick swipes. "Sure, lad. Already done, all there for you to dig in. Shall I give you two weeks to get the gist of the whole thing?"  
Alasdair retrieved his tablet and scanned the files, then raised his head. "A week would be enough, Vince."  
"Excellent," Merlin clapped his hands in glee. "Good to hear that. And, as much as I'd like to keep you here indefinitely, you have candidates to meet."  
Alasdair's lips curled in a mischievous grin. "I can return in the evening, Vince, if you want."  
The wizard shook his head, chuckling. "Cheeky bastard. Off you go, and come back as often as you'll see fit."  
"Alright, boss," the young Scotsman gave a sloppy salute and started the engine of his wheelchair, pinching in the return route to his quarters. "See you soon!"  
"Mm-hm," Vincent headed to his work station. "See you, lad."  
With more than two hours still remaining till the first interview, Alasdair made a detour via his uncle's hospital room, telling him the news and showing the amount of files sent by Merlin.  
Seeing his nephew excitedly scrolling through the most sophisticated tech schematics, Maxwell couldn't help grinning and patting the young man's knee fondly. "Vince got you all excited, hasn't he?"  
Alasdair looked at him with shining eyes, and the older man chuckled. "Just as I thought. You'll make an excellent Merlin, my boy."  
The younger man rolled his eyes. "There are still going to be tests, you know…"  
Maxwell raised his eyebrows. "Indeed, but Vince apparently did everything in his power to ensure your success."  
"Let me guess," Alasdair smirked. "By giving me all these files to overload my brain?"  
His uncle's expression was a picture of innocence. "Not exactly. More like talking Arthur's ear off about you being his ideal successor."  
That got the young Scot's attention. "But… the qualification test…"  
"Just a formality Kingsman tradition insist on," Maxwell explained, trying to keep a straight face and stifling a chuckle at Alasdair's stunned expression.  
The younger man narrowed his eyes, his confusion rapidly transforming into irritation. "And none of you deemed this little fact worth mentioning, I take it?"  
Predictably, Alasdair's reaction set Maxwell off into a bout of honest belly laugher while the victim of their practical joke spluttered and huffed in indignation.  
The younger man's irritation, however, didn't last long: a moment later his lips curled into a small smile, and he joined the fun, chuckling and shaking his head. "I should have guessed…"  
"You were too gloomy, my dear boy," the older man took a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. "But it was Vince's idea, I just played along."  
"You're making it sound as if I'm blaming you," Alasdair grinned. "Well, maybe I am, but only in a good way."  
"That's the spirit," Maxwell patted his knee again. "How's your preparation to the interviews going?"  
"I've practically memorized all the dossiers," the younger man pursed his lips. "But I'm blaming you for my fixation on Harry Hart, uncle. How the hell I'm supposed to be impartial if all that I'm thinking about is him?"  
The older man pretended to think a bit. "Well, I may have a suggestion. It will take you mind off things and help spend the remaining time productively."  
"Which is?" Alasdair raised his eyebrows.  
Maxwell smiled. "Sparky."  
The younger man's blinding smile was an answer of its own.


	2. First Meeting

His visit to the kennels made him lose the track of time, so the insistent beeping of his tablet took him by surprise. It turned to be a message from Merlin, and Alasdair opened it right away.  
' _Being late for your interview with the candidate is not exactly befitting a gentleman, Dair._ '  
The young agent checked the time and swore under his breath.  
His tablet beeped again.  
' _Language, my boy._ '  
"Not you too, uncle," Alasdair grumbled, ushering Sparky into his dwelling. "Spying on me now, aren't you?"  
Another beep, with warning about conference mode.  
' _Indeed I am_.' ' _Both of us, in fact_.' ' _You should get going, lad_.' ' _You still have five minutes_.'  
"Alright, alright, I'm on my way," Alasdair quickly programmed the route. "Wish me luck."  
Both messages came simultaneously, and the younger man smiled, putting his tablet away and activating the auto-drive.  
The first two candidates were ordinary. Granted, they had the required set of skills, and with proper training could make excellent agents, so Alasdair had them fill all necessary forms and, giving the lists with all the details concerning the upcoming training, sent them on their way.  
Now all he had to do is wait for Harry Hart, and something told him his last meeting wasn't going to be so simple and straightforward.  
As if to confirm Alasdair's expectations, Hart didn't disappoint: the clock had struck a quarter past six, and Harry still failed to appear. More than that, there weren't any calls or messages explaining his absence, and Alasdair decided to text and call the meeting off. He had been on his way out of the room and down the corridor, texting to Hart, when he was startled by somebody tripping over him and practically falling into his lap.  
"My sincere apologies," a smooth, silky voice uttered almost into his ear. "I was in a bit of a hurry to..," then the stranger caught a glimpse of Alasdair's tablet. "Oh."  
"Oh, indeed," although the Scot's voice was stern, his eyes and lips were smiling. "Harry Hart, I presume?"  
"Yes," Hart used the arms of Alasdair's wheelchair to pull himself upright and straightened his suit. "And you must be…"  
"Alasdair McKinnon, the one who invited you here and, if you'd accept my proposal, your possible mentor," Dair put his tablet back into its compartment. "Interested?"  
"And your proposal entails becoming a Kingsman agent, if I understand correctly," Harry tilted his head to the right, his dark eyes studying Alasdair with curiosity.  
"Exactly," the Scot confirmed, holding Hart's gaze without blinking. The strange tingling was back in full force, and with each Harry's word it got stronger. "Well?"  
Judging by the way Hart suddenly narrowed his eyes, he felt something too. "I think it's worth discussing in more comfortable surroundings."  
Alasdair blinked, trying to shake off his sudden trance-like state. "Yes, you are right. The briefing room is just two steps down the corridor; let's get back here."  
"Excellent suggestion," Hart smiled, warded expression disappearing from his face. "Lead the way, then."  
The Scot nodded wordlessly and turned his wheelchair around, starting towards their destination. Harry followed him without delay, and Alasdair did his best to hide a smile: Hart seemed completely oblivious of the fact that his hand now rested on Alasdair's shoulder. Which meant that no matter how rational Hart's mind had been, his nature was showing through loud and clear. Now if only he had enough courage to admit and accept that…  
As if hearing his thoughts, Harry jerked his hand back. "Sorry, that was extremely rude of me…"  
"Don't worry, I don't mind," Alasdair turned to look at him, smiling. "Might even take it as a compliment."  
Hart returned his smile, dimples showing. "You may as well."  
The Scot did his best to keep his emotions in check, trying not to let his hopes rise. Was it a conscious effort on Harry's part, or was he just merely being polite? "Careful, Mr. Hart. Words tend to be double-sided weapon, and their action can be lethal, as you may know."  
Hart frowned, his smile vanishing. "I'm afraid I don't quite grasp your meaning…"  
"Never mind," Alasdair waved his hand in dismissal. "Sometimes I tend to be a bit strange. Hope it won't put you off too much."  
"No, I..," Harry paused, his expression uncertain. "It's strange, and I probably… shouldn't mention it to you, but…"  
"It's okay, I understand," the Scot turned his wheelchair around once more. "And I should probably apologise for being the reason of your discomfort. Have you heard anything about Guardians?"  
Hart's eyes widened. "You... you are one of them? The real Guardian?"  
"Apparently," the young agent nodded, smiling. "Does it bother you?"  
Harry tilted his head to the right, his expression thoughtful. "I've heard rumours about it, but I've yet to meet one of them."  
"You have, now," Alasdair turned again, covered the remaining distance to the door and pulled it open. "Let's continue this conversation inside."  
His possible soulmate hummed, catching up swiftly and placing his hand on Alasdair's shoulder. "To think that I could lose such a chance... not only to become a Kingsman, but to meet a Guardian as well..."  
The Scot pushed his wheelchair forward, and, as he expected, Harry followed his movement, stepping inside the room. "You sound excited."  
"Of course I am!" Harry looked around the room with interest. "You probably have my dossier, you know I tend to be extremely curious about such things..."  
Alasdair manoeuvred his wheelchair towards the table. "Take a seat, please, Mr. Hart."  
"Harry," Hart corrected immediately, walking to the armchair in front of the table and folding himself into it gracefully. "Just call me Harry... If it's not against your rules, of course."  
"It isn't," Alasdair confirmed. "Especially if you decide to accept my offer. Being my candidate presupposes the first name basic, Harry. Any questions so far?"  
"Not about Kingsman, I'm afraid," Harry smiled, leaning back in his armchair. "You are to blame for that, by the way. I've never met a Guardian before."  
"Well, now you have, so you can bear to wait a wee bit longer while I tell you all necessary details about your future occupation," Alasdair responded with a grin, and Harry rolled his eyes in a fake exasperation. The Scot liked him already, so Hart did his best to keep the rapport going.  
"Well, if you must..," for a few moments, Harry's face was a picture of refined politeness, then his eyes sparkled with mischief. "But I get to ask you all sorts of questions about you being a Guardian afterwards."  
"Fair enough," the Scot conceded, flipping a folder open and pushing it towards Harry. "How much do you know about Kingsman?"  
Hart narrowed his eyes. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it a secret organization? If that is so, I'm not supposed to know anything. Or was your question some sort of a test?"  
Alasdair nodded in satisfaction. "Precisely, and you've just passed it. Your grandfather kept his work in Kingsman secret, as I understand?"  
"Even if he failed to do so, I'm not aware of his slip-ups," Harry crossed his legs and raised his hand to loosen his tie and unbutton two top buttons on his shirt. "Except maybe for this, but I guess it has some purpose."  
Alasdair knew what he was going to see even before Harry tugged at the chain around his neck.  
The Kingsman medallion.  
"It has, but your grandfather obviously kept it a secret too," the Scot took the trinket from Harry's hands. "Your father and you are entitled to one phone call, with a favour from Kingsman."  
"What kind of favour?" Harry leaned forward, his curiosity getting the better of him.  
"Any request, basically. Money, protection... Or a chance to become a Kingsman Knight. But I guess your father wasn't exactly thrilled by any of those prospects."  
"Guess so," Harry nodded. "Father gave it to me and said 'Honour and purity'. Nothing else. When I asked about the number on the back, he just shrugged his shoulders. I decided it will be my talisman."  
"Maybe it's for the best," Alasdair passed the medallion back to his owner and tapped the folder. "I need you to read this and ask questions, if there would be any."  
The only sign of Hart's displeasure was a slight downturn of his mouth, but he obediently reached for the folder and busied himself with studying of its contents.  
Alasdair used this opportunity to take his fill of looking at his soon-to-be candidate. Although Harry couldn't be called stunningly beautiful, he was quite handsome and, obviously being aware of this fact, used it to his advantage. He dressed casually and smartly at the same time, his skin and fingernails were perfectly tended to, and only his hair betrayed his nature – there was a wayward curl parting from his otherwise perfectly styled hair and falling over his forehead. From time to time Hart tried to swipe it back into order, but this battle appeared to be lost right from the beginning.  
Not to mention that after first two swipes Alasdair found himself practically itching to pat Harry's hair into order for him.  
Hart seemed to catch this vibe somehow, because right after fifth or sixth swipe he looked up and straight into Alasdair's eyes, a small knowing smile curling his lips. The Scot looked away, feeling a sudden blush heating his cheeks, and pretended to busy himself with something on his tablet.  
Harry's derisive snort did nothing to calm him; if anything, it just seemed to fuel Alasdair's embarrassment further.  
"Are all mentors usually tend to be so attentive to their candidates, sir?" Hart's voice was tinted with amusement, and the Scot looked at him sharply. The younger man raised his hands in placating gesture. "Sorry, I meant no offence."  
"No, it's..," Alasdair paused, debating whether he should just tell Harry the truth, or play it by Kingsman's rules. Both variants right now held little to no appeal. "Look, it's a wee bit complicated…"  
"Sounds like a bit of understatement," Harry remarked, abandoning the folder in order to focus all his attention on Alasdair. "I have a feeling I owe you an explanation, sir."  
"Alasdair," the Scot corrected automatically. "Remember what I told you about the first name basis?"  
"Alasdair," Hart conceded. "Before we start discussing the possibility of my new life choice, I think should tell you something about myself. It has to do with my earlier remark about attention: while I'm not averse to any kind of personal interactions, there are some instances when…"  
"Gay or bi?" the Scot asked bluntly, raising his eyebrow.  
Harry didn't even bat an eyelash. "Asexual."  
"Duly noted," Alasdair tilted his head to the right. "Are we done on this subject?"  
For a moment, Hart's expression reflected mild surprise, then he schooled his features into polite mask. "Quite."  
"Excellent. Any questions on a subject of the materials you've just read?"  
"None whatsoever," Harry replied right away, and Alasdair rolled his eyes. "I usually prefer to deal with everything on the way, so there's no point wasting our time on this topic any longer. Especially when we have more interesting things to discuss, don't you think?"  
"Why I have a feeling that my uncle just made my life a living hell?" the young Kingsman grumbled, and Harry chuckled, flashing his most charming smile in his future mentor's direction. "Already proud of yourself, aren't ya?"  
"Guilty as charged," Hart admitted easily, and Alasdair couldn't help but smile in return. "I'm not easy to have around, I admit, but I can promise you'll never regret your choice."  
"There's no need for additional convincing, Harry," the Scot objected. "We both made our choices, now all we need to do is stick with them."  
Hart's expression turned mischievous. "Yes, we certainly did, but I had another choice in mind," Harry's voice dropped into a deep purr, causing Alasdair to shiver. "Offering me an opportunity to become a Kingsman is a logical choice on your part, but there are also other reasons, ones that you so masterfully trying to keep hidden. But I should disappoint you, I'm afraid: your strategy isn't working."  
"And you sure of that because..," Alasdair prompted, coveting and dreading Hart's answer at the same time.  
"I feel it too," Harry replied simply. "Whatever the hell it is, I feel it. From the moment I tripped over you in the corridor. And it's getting worse."  
A slight frown creased Alasdair's forehead. "Worse how?"  
Harry mirrored his frown. "Not sure if I can explain it properly, but… It feels like with your every word something is pulling at me… I can't concentrate at all…"  
"You seem quite determined to pursue certain topic," the Scot objected.  
"Because it's the only bloody thing I can think about," Hart grumbled. "What the hell is going on with me?"  
"Not sure, but it can be one of the signs of heightened sensitivity," Alasdair said thoughtfully. "Were there any Guardians or Satellites in your family?"  
"Two or three generations ago, if I remember correctly. No one since then. I have mixed roots, perhaps…"  
"No, it doesn't work like traditional genetics," the Scot shook his head. "Not with soulmate markers, anyway. The reason said marker remains dormant is usually more complicated."  
"More complicated than genetics?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Clever of me not to choose to become a geneticist, then."  
Alasdair pretended to think for a while. "Well, that's debatable. We at Kingsman are always in need of skilled professionals. Although judging by your dossier you would've become bored quite quickly. As I understand, you prefer for your life to be exciting and action-based, and genetics is all about patience and tenacity. It also tends to be slow-going."  
"Not my cup of tea, then," Harry agreed. "Alright, back to the soulmate topic. Those markers you've mentioned, how do they work?"  
"They are some sort of chemicals that activate certain parts of human brain," Alasdair remarked, leaning forward and folding his arms on the tabletop. "As I understand, they can be detected in human blood since early childhood, but they only become active if your soulmate comes in physical contact with you. It can even be as light as a touch on your shoulder."  
Unsurprisingly, it took Hart barely a moment to do the math, and his eyes narrowed. "A touch on the shoulder, you say?"  
Alasdair's tablet beeped, and a message from his uncle appeared on the screen: _'Don't tell him_ '. The Scot started to frown, but caught himself in time. "Yes, but the way you feel now doesn't mean I'm your soulmate. Guardians vary in their power. I've been told I'm the strong one, so it's possible your reaction is just a reflex."  
His tablet beeped again, this time the message came from Merlin: ' _Good lad. Come and see Bors when you've finished. He has a lot to tell you_.'  
Harry didn't seem convinced, but obviously decided to let it slide. "Whatever you say, Alasdair. Guess I have something to look forward too, then."  
The Scot smiled. "Guess so. Anything else you want to know?"  
"Yes, but it kind of personal," Harry paused, waiting for Alasdair's permission to continue, but there was a glint of excitement and curiosity in his eyes, so the Scot took pity on him.  
"That's okay," Alasdair grinned. "Shoot."  
"Just out of curiosity: have you found yours?"  
"Not yet, but it's not going to be an easy task anyway: I'm destined to have two Satellites, and even if I find the first, I would be forced to wait for the second to appear. I can only bond when I have found both Satellites. Well, at least I've been told so, I don't know for certain."  
"Well, good luck to you with that," Harry looked at his watch and frowned. "Are we done for today? I don't want to be rude, but I have an appointment in half an hour…"  
"Just sign the non-disclosure agreement, it's on the last page in your folder, and you're free to go," the Scot handed him a pen.  
Hart flipped the folder over, opened it on the last page and scribbled his signature on the bottom of the page. "Can I ask what happens now?"  
"Of course," Alasdair reached for the folder, closed it and put into the compartment at the back of his wheelchair. "Your training should begin in a week, so I suggest tying all the loose ends up. It's better if nothing distracts you once you've entered the selection process."  
"Understood," Harry rose from the chair and straightened his suit. "Am I correct in assuming I'm to leave home for this training?"  
"Yes," Alasdair nodded. "You'll be provided with temporal quarters, which you will be sharing with the other recruits."  
"Something new, then," Hart commented, turning on his heels and strolling to the door. "See you soon, Alasdair."  
"See you soon, Harry," the Scot replied, already busy with programming his route to Bors' office. If he wasn't mistaken, the older Knight also had two Satellites – one was an active Knight too, and the other worked in tech department. And Bors found his soulmates ten or so years ago, so his advice could prove to be valuable.  
When he finally got to the older Knight's office, Bors wasn't alone – Caradoc and Nimue kept him company, all three deep in conversation and oblivious to the world.  
Alasdair cleared his throat, feeling awkward. "I'm sorry, it's obviously not a good time…"  
Nimue turned to look at him first, a warm smile lighting up her face. "Not at all, Excalibur. Come in. We were just reminiscing…"  
Caradoc playfully slapped his palm over her mouth. "Not a word more, Nim. We don't need him having this sort of blackmail material on us, do we?"  
Bors just looked at his Satellites and shook his head. "Kids," he grumbled long-sufferingly. "Come in, Excalibur, and try not to pay too much attention to these two clowns."  
Caradoc immediately crossed his arms on his chest, adopting an expression of wounded dignity, and Nimue rolled his eyes, both pointedly keeping silent and giving their Guardian evil glares.  
Bors habitually ignored their scowling and abandoned his chair in favour of coming towards Alasdair to meet and greet the younger agent.  
The Scot smiled at him and reached out to shake the proffered hand; a moment later Bors was hastily kneeling in front of the wheelchair and trying to prevent unconscious Alasdair from diving face-first towards the floor.  
Caradoc and Nimue, alarmed, rushed to help Bors with lifting Alasdair from the wheelchair and placing him on the sofa at the back of the room.  
"Too damn sensitive," Bors grumbled, placing his palm on Alasdair's forehead. "You both, shield your thoughts, please. We don't need to give him a stroke by dumping the whole load of our adventures into his brain."  
They immediately obeyed, closing their eyes, and Bors closed his too, carefully sifting the information for Alasdair.  
Several minutes later the Scot took a deep breath and opened his eyes, gazing at three soulmates with awe, their life still playing in his mind eye in full Technicolour.  
Bors smiled softly, patting Alasdair's arm. "Yes, lad, sometimes it's bloody hard to bear. But it worth any suffering you may endure in the future. Harry Hart is one of your Satellites, isn't he?"  
The Scot nodded, too dazed to reply.  
"He is a decent man, despite all his antics," Bors commented, squeezing Alasdair's shoulder slightly. "Mark my words, you're going to be great. Whoever your other Satellite is, he's a lucky bastard."  
Alasdair hummed in reply and tried to keep his eyes open, but this battle was already lost.  
"Don't worry, lad, you won't offend me by crashing on my sofa," Bors pulled a light blanket from one of the armchairs and carefully tucked the young agent in. "Sleep. You body and your mind both need it. We'll talk later, I promise."  
Feeling safe and secure, Alasdair did just that...


	3. The Nightmare

Waking up as a focus for three watchful gazes didn't come as a surprise, but as soon as Alasdair identified their owners, he groaned and closed his eyes again.  
Somebody leaned closer, placing their hand on his forehead, and the Scot distracted himself with trying to guess who exactly that was. Since he didn't have an exact knowledge of how each of the older agent's palm felt on his skin, he based his recognition on scent.  
His effort, however, was noticed right away, causing the person comforting him to chuckle in amusement. "You've got us all worried, Dair," the older man murmured, his fingers stroking Alasdar's forehead almost reverently.  
"I didn't plan to, Vince," the young agent replied, risking opening his eyes to be treated by Merlin's soft smile. "Harry's presence seemed to heighten my sensitivity, especially to the touch. Considering that, how am I supposed to deal with my Satellite from now on if he decides to become my candidate?"  
"That's the main problem with having two Satellites," Bors piped in. "You'll need an additional training, lad. Fortunately for you, I can help with that."  
"Very much appreciated," Alasdair shifted on the sofa, trying to sit up, and found himself assisted by three pairs of hands at once. "Sorry for being a burden…"  
"You are not, my boy," Maxwell objected, and the younger man finally and fully registered his presence in the room.  
"Uncle? What are you doing here?" Alasdair frowned, alarmed and perplexed at the same time.  
"We are watching over you, remember?" the older man reached out to ruffle his hair. "When Bors raised the alarm, I simply couldn't stay away."  
"You shouldn't have," the younger man shook his head reproachfully. "You're still recovering, any strain…"  
"I'm bored out of my skull, lad," Maxwell grimaced. "Besides, Morgana cleared me for the rehab. And Vince accompanied me here, so don't you worry, I'm perfectly fine."  
Truth to be told, his uncle definitely looked better, so Alasdair reached out and patted his arm. "Okay, uncle. Just try not to overdo it."  
"I will if you will," Maxwell smiled. "I know Bors long enough to be well aware of his unending stamina. Don't let him wear you down."  
"Don't make me into a monster, Max!" the man in question protested. "Just because I had been reasonably strict with you during your standard re-evaluation…"  
Maxwell snorted, earning an impressive mock-threatening glare from Bors. "Reasonably strict, Cedric? I thought I was going to die on that obstacle course!"  
"Mm-hm," Cedric's eyes glinted with mischief. "And you repaid in full by drinking me under the table."  
"Good old days, Bors," there was sadness in Maxwell's voice, and the other man mirrored it in his smile.  
"Good old days, Gawain," he replied, glancing in Alasdair's direction. "Don't you worry; your boy is safe with me."  
"I know, Bors," Maxwell leaned forward to place his hand on Cedric's shoulder. "Take care of Harry too, poor soul doesn't know what he's getting himself into."  
"I beg to differ, Max," Cedric shook his head slightly. "Young Hart is not as simple as he tries to appear. I won't be surprised if these three turn to be Destined in the end."  
As soon as Alasdair heard that, he paled and started shaking his head quite vigorously. "No," his tone was a bit hysterical. "Nonononono. Can't be. I can't… I'm not… This is ridiculous!"  
"Fate doesn't tend to ask when she chooses, boyo," Bors said softly. "And it isn't as you can decline. Many had tried, and it never ended well for any of them."  
"I can confirm that," Merlin's voice was unusually quiet. "I tried to turn away from being Destined, and paid for that dearly. I nearly lost my Significant One, and barely survived myself. It tore our bond apart, so don't make the same mistake, Dair."  
The younger man's eyes widened. "Vince..," he murmured, reaching out in attempt to comfort the wizard. "I didn't know."  
"Only a few ones did, my boy," Merlin reassured him, gripping his hand gently and giving it a squeeze. "Usually you don't make a lot of people privy to such kind of things, you know."  
Out of the corner of his eye, the Scot saw his uncle flinch slightly, as if he had been slapped, but quickly dismissed this piece of information as non-significant.  
"Of course," Alasdair covered their clasped hands with his left one. "I felt something about you was off, but couldn't pinpoint the source of the disturbance."  
Merlin turned his head to look at Maxwell and winked. "We made a good choice, Max. He is absolute treasure."  
Alasdair's uncle nodded. "That he is," and he, in turn, looked at Bors. "About the training you mentioned earlier – when would you be able to start?"  
"As soon as he'll be ready, but certainly not today," the Guardian answered promptly, his voice brooking no argument. "He had enough excitement for one day, all he needs now is to rest and recover."  
"Preferably in my own room," Alasdair commented, looking around in search of his wheelchair. "This sofa is really comfy, but I think I overstayed my welcome."  
"Nonsense, lad," Bors shook his head. "You can stay here or in my personal quarters for as long as you wish, considering that I'm taking on the responsibility of being your Guide. However, this offer will become valid only tomorrow morning, so for now I'm fully prepared to assist with getting you to your own bed and even tucking you in if you require so," the older agent winked at him, and Alasdair hastily ducked his head in order to hide a sudden blush on his cheeks.  
There was a pointed dual clearing of throats, and the younger man looked up, just in time to see Merlin and Gawain giving Bors warning glares. The object of intimidation, however, just shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms in pacifying gesture.  
"Just kidding, chaps," Bors murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Got two of my own, not to mention that your precious lad is already spoken for."  
"What?" Alasdair blurted, frowning in confusion. "What do you mean I'm spoken for?"  
The young agent knew that butting into conversation was extremely impolite, but he just couldn't help it. Vincent and Maxwell just rolled his eyes, but let him continue.  
"Only that Harry Hart already managed to lay his claim on you," Cedric tilted his head to the right. "Did he touch you anyhow?"  
"Yes, he..," Alasdair frowned, remembering Harry's hand on his shoulder. "He hadn't realised at first that he put his hand on my shoulder…"  
The older Guardian snorted. "Congratulations, boyo, now you're totally in for it."  
The young man did his best to keep himself under control. "Meaning?" he asked calmly, holding Cedric's gaze.  
"Meaning that you urgently need some training even for simple interaction with Harry Hart," Bors replied with equal calmness. "Otherwise you can do a lot of harm to yourself and your Satellite. And we don't want that, do we?"  
"We certainly don't," Alasdair agreed. "I'm ready for whatever training you're willing to give me, after some night rest, of course. Now if any of you'd be so generous as to bring my wheelchair closer… I'll manage the rest."  
As soon as he finished saying that, there was a flurry of activity, and the young agent found himself carefully lifted from the sofa and carried to his wheelchair by Maxwell and Cedric. Vincent was waiting near the aforementioned wheelchair, fiddling with its controls and getting it into a half-reclined position.  
"I had no idea it can do this!" Alasdair struggled in two older agents' hold in order to get a better view, and practically caused an incident: unprepared to their burden's sudden activity, Maxwell and Cedric almost dropped their charge, and only Vincent's swift reaction saved Alasdair from the undignified meeting with the floor.  
"Careful, lad," Merlin grumbled, safely depositing Alasdair into the hi-tech contraption. "And my apologies with not telling you all about my latest invention. Arthur personally tasked me with the creation of this wheelchair, but I had no idea they were just going to stick you into it without any explanations. I have the complete manual on this thing; I can make a digest for you."  
"If you would be so kind," the young agent pulled the touch screen on the arm of the wheelchair up and activated the route to his quarters. "I think I know most of the features, but there's always something…"  
"Of course," Merlin confirmed, stepping out of Alasdair's way. "I'll send you a memo tomorrow."  
"Right," Bors was the next to react. "Time to wrap it up, chaps. Alasdair, till morning, then?"  
"Of course," the younger man turned his head to look at Maxwell. "Coming, uncle?"  
"Sure. Goodnight, Bors. Merlin?"  
"Right," the wizard moved to stand on Alasdair's left, so Maxwell flanked his nephew on the right. "Goodnight, Bors. Dair, after you."  
"Goodnight, sir," the young Kingsman turned to look at Bors. "I'll be here first thing in the morning."  
"Cedric, please," the older man corrected. "And there's no need to be so strict, Dair. Take as long as you need, I have no missions in two nearest weeks, so I'm all yours."  
"Alright, Cedric," Alasdair smiled, activating his route home. "See you in the morning!"  
With that, they left the office, heading to Alasdair's room. Maxwell and Vincent tried to engage the younger man in conversation on the way, but Alasdair just hummed distractedly in reply, so after a few unsuccessful tries they just let him concentrate on his thoughts.  
Said thoughts, unsurprisingly, revolved around certain things: Harry Hart's warm brown gaze, smooth voice and, above everything else, his soothing and captivating touch…  
"Daydreaming, my boy?" Maxwell's voice brought him back to the reality, and the younger man turned to look at his uncle, only to notice a knowing smile playing on his lips.  
"Leave him alone, Max," Vincent groused, reaching out to smack his friend on the arm. "He has a right to feel anxious - we all dumped on him a whole bloody mountain of information. He needs time to make sense of it, that's all."  
"Sure, especially considering the serious expression on his face," Maxwell chuckled, and found himself on the receiving end of another smack – this time from his nephew. "Sorry, lad, my bad. Just wanted to say that I'm proud of you. This whole being a Guardian thing… tough business and so far you're handling everything like a pro. Not an easy stuff for a novice, believe me."  
"Don't I know it!" Alasdair grinned, his anxiety easing off a bit. "If only I knew what I will be getting myself into, I would've thought twice before giving in to the urge of present as Guardian. No offence, Vince."  
"None taken, lad. I thought the same when I was in your situation. Add to that being Destined, and… Well, you know exactly how I felt," the wizard reached out and patted Alasdair's shoulder consolingly. "Although I'm sure you're going to handle everything far better than I did."  
"What gave you that idea, I wonder," the younger man mumbled, shaking his head.  
Right at that moment they rounded the corner, turning into the corridor where Alasdair's room was situated, and the two older agents stopped. There was an unsaid agreement among Kingsman agents not to intrude upon Excalibur's privacy without his personal invitation, so Vincent and Maxwell, even being the ones closest to Alasdair, chose to respect that agreement.  
"Call it intuition, lad," Vince replied softly. Then his face broke into a mischievous grin. "But you owe me if I turn to be right about that."  
"Sure thing," the young agent grinned in reply, switching on the brakes. "Guess it's goodnight then? Wouldn't be proper for me to be all sleepy at my tomorrow meeting with Bors."  
"Of course," Maxwell and Vincent replied in unison, then chuckled, glancing at each other.  
"Good night, Dair," Max murmured. "Sleep well and don't worry. Everything will be alright, I'm sure."  
"Good night, lad," Vince added. "And don't hesitate to call if you'd feel an urge to."  
"Thank you, and good night to you both," Alasdair switched the brakes off and let it drive him home the rest of the way. When he reached the door and glanced back, Maxwell and Vincent had already left.

* * *

 _That night, Alasdair dreamed._  
 _As per usual with dreams, he couldn't pinpoint its beginning: he just found himself in it, walking along the path in Kingsman grounds, with Harry Hart by his side._  
 _They both were older, and Harry wore traditional Kingsman bespoke suit, his attire completed by the black umbrella on his arm._  
 _Alasdair also realised that he himself was walking, so obviously his paralysis had been a temporal thing._  
 _Curiously enough, the young Scot understood he wasn't just seeing a dream: this was his future, and he tried to pay more attention to it._  
 _Harry seemed as confident and relaxed as ever, but, judging by the scar marring his left temple, life hadn't been easy on him._  
 _The dream Hart caught him starring, and raised his eyebrow questioningly._  
 _"Just musing," Alasdair replied, not at all surprised by his own ability to interact with the dream. More than that, he seemed perfectly able to recall all the events prior this pleasant walk._  
 _"I knew that being Arthur will grow on you," Alasdair remarked, testing the grounds, and was relieved when a warm smile blossomed on Harry's lips._  
 _"As if I could disappoint you," the other man murmured. "You'd always complained I cost you your hair; it's time for me to return the favour."_  
 _The Scot did his best to look affronted. "Don't you dare! Kingsman had never had a bald Arthur, and, as long as I'm Merlin, it won't happen."_  
 _"In your wildest dreams, Dair," Harry chuckled and suddenly took a step to the side. "You have incoming, Merlin."_  
 _Now the Scot heard it too: a quick pit-patter of footsteps, accompanied by a heavy breathing. A moment later there was an explosion of warmth against his back, and then two arms sneaked around his torso, squeezing affectionately._  
 _With a few calculated movements, Alasdair turned within embrace, hugged the stranger in reply, and found himself looking into a pair of clearest emerald-green eyes he's ever seen._  
 _"Back from your mission already, Galahad?" Harry stepped closer again and deftly insinuated himself into the pair's embrace._  
 _The younger man easily accommodated him, and Alasdair finally noticed that the stranger's suit looked a bit worse for wear._  
 _"Yes, 'arry," the youngster replied with clear East End accent. "'ad a bit ov trouble, but I got the info. Already gave it to yer minions, guv," the young agent sighed, lowering his blond head and pressing his forehead into Alasdair's shoulder. "Missed ya both."_  
 _"Well done, Eggsy," Harry praised, raising his hand to ruffle the boy's hair affectionately. "How about having something to eat and then sleeping for a few hours? You look a bit tired, my boy."_  
 _"I'm knackered, Haz," Eggsy corrected, burrowing deeper into Alasdair's jumper. "Food is good, as long as I get to cuddle with you bof afterwards."_  
 _'So this is our third,' Alasdair mused, looking at the golden-haired Satellite happily nestled against his collarbone. 'Wonder how long is it going to be till I'd meet him'._  
 _"Of course, my darling," Harry pulled away and gently tugged on Eggsy's sleeve. "Come on, let's get you properly fed and cuddled."_  
 _"Mm-hm," the younger agent agreed, but made no move to comply._  
 _"Eggsy," Harry scolded, crossing his arms on his chest, but Alasdair, comforted by the younger man's warmth, interrupted his Satellite with a negative shake of his head._  
 _"Don't be so stern with him, Harry, the boy already had his share of being pushed about for today," the Scot rumbled. Something had been lurking at the back of his mind, some question he needed to ask, and Alasdair frowned, trying to make sense of it._  
 _"Yes, and that's exactly why I'm trying to get him properly looked after," Hart objected, and Alasdair suddenly realised what he wanted to ask._  
 _"Speaking of looking after," the Scot said conversationally. "How about your evil twin? Sooner or later..."_  
 _Eggsy suddenly tensed in his arms and spun them both around so he could look at Harry. "Bad idea, guv," the youngster hissed, and in the next moment launched himself at Harry._  
 _The older agent didn't even have time to blink before he found himself within Eggsy's crushing embrace, arms effectively pinned by his sides. Alasdair just watched in stunned silence, shocked by the raw hatred in Hart's gaze._  
 _"Hate to ruin your nirvana, guv, but it's time to put Harry to sleep," the young agent did his best to thwart Harry's attempts to fight him off. "I can't hold him forever."_  
 _Eggsy was right, of course, but he let his concentration waver a little while speaking and Harry immediately used that to his advantage. Within seconds, Eggsy was struggling in Harry's left-armed chokehold, and Hart's right arm was raised in Alasdair's direction._  
 _"Good night, Merlin," Harry said with a scowl, and right after that Alasdair felt a sting in his neck..._  
With a shout, Alasdair sat bolt upright in his bed, hands shaking and clothes drenched with sweat.  
"One hell of a dream," he chocked out, trying to get his laboured breathing under control, and a moment later heard his glasses beeping on the night table, demanding his attention.  
"What happened, lad?" Merlin's concerned voice came through as soon as Alasdair put on his glasses and accepted the call. "Are you alright?"  
"Yes, just a nightmare," his voice sounded hoarse, must've been screaming. "A rather nasty one, and I think I saw my other Satellite. But how come you aren't sleeping?"  
"I'm handling Percival. Time difference, my boy," Merlin explained curtly, and turned their conversation on the previous track. "You said something about nightmare?"  
"Yes, and my other Satellite is much younger than me or Harry," Alasdair's voice finally became steady and his hands weren't shaking anymore. "Oh, and Harry killed me, by the way. With the poisoned dart, as I recall."  
There was a sharp intake of breath over the line. "Holy shit, that's not good. See you in a few minutes."  
"But Percival..," Alasdair began, already feeling guilty about distracting the wizard from his job.  
"…are perfectly capable of finishing his mission on his own, especially considering that he's now on his way to the extraction point," Merlin's voice brooked no argument. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving him without support. Someone from my night crew will look after him."  
"No rest for the wicked, huh?" the younger man smiled, appreciating Vince's attempt to cheer him up.  
"Exactly. See you soon."  
The line went silent.


	4. Small Victories and Confessions

Still a bit shell-shocked but feeling significantly calmer, Alasdair without further thought swung his legs over the side of the bed, lowering them onto the floor.  
Then he froze, staring at his suddenly responsive limbs in utter incomprehension.  
Merlin got to Alasdair's room five minutes later and, without further ado, simply overrode the electronic lock. The sight of the younger agent, almost catatonic and staring at his own legs, caused the wizard to swear under his breath and, throwing his clipboard onto the nearest table, rush forward with worried 'Dair!' on his suddenly dry lips.  
The man in question, hearing his voice, raised his head and blinked at Vincent in confusion. A moment later his dark eyes lit up with recognition and a triumphant smile tugged at his lips.  
"Vince!" the young Scot beamed at him. "Look!"  
"Look at what?" Vince frowned, coming closer and trying to make sense of the strange glow he saw in Alasdair's eyes. "Dair, are you alright?"  
"More than," the smile on young Knight's face turned into a grin, and he pointed downwards. "See for yourself."  
The wizard looked down in time to see Alasdair's toes wriggle slightly on the plush carpet.  
"It happened after the nightmare," the young Scot supplied excitedly. "I think I had read about this somewhere. My paralysis clearly has psychological roots, so a shockingly strong emotion…"  
"Dair," Vince interrupted, his expression sombre. "Look at me, please."  
Alasdair quieted, the smile disappearing from his face. "Vince? What…"  
The wizard just shook his head, urging the younger man to keep quiet. "Just look into my eyes."  
The Scot obeyed, and Vincent cursed inwardly, seeing multiple golden dots in Alasdair's usually clear brown eyes. It wasn't a simple nightmare the young Guardian saw; it was a full-blown Premonition, and, what was the worst, it appeared to be cursed by someone.  
All things considered, Vincent had no other choice, and although he loathed what he was about to do, saving Alasdair's life was far more important than letting him have this small victory which could cost him said life.  
"Sorry, lad," the wizard murmured and, before Alasdair could react, pressed the tips of his fingers to the young Scot's temples, sending through a mild neurological charge.  
Judging by the way Alasdair slumped forward with a faint moan, Vincent had been successful. But unfortunately, knocking the young Knight out and thus part-erasing the curse had been just the first step of the plan. For the rest of it Vincent needed Cedric's help, so, gently lowering Alasdair back onto the bed, the wizard tapped his glasses and made a call.  
He took a seat in the nearest armchair and, while waiting for Bors to answer, felt something warm trickling down his neck and upper lip. Touching it absentmindedly, the wizard wasn't surprised to see his own blood staining his fingers crimson. 'Brain haemorrhage apparently turned external,' he thought calmly, wiping his fingers on the hem of his jumper – there was no reason to be squeamish now.  
"It's bloody three in the morning, Merlin," Cedric finally grumbled into his ear. "Better be important, or I'll bother enough to come over and shove my goddamn glasses…"  
"You'll need to come over anyway, Bors," Vincent interrupted. God, did he really sound so weak? "Excalibur had a Premonition, and somebody tried to poison him through it."  
"Shit," now Cedric sounded completely awake. "Wait, what's with your voice? Vince, please tell me you didn't…"  
"I had no choice," the wizard tried to put as much authority into his voice as he could master in his state. "But I need you to finish it, I have no strength left."  
"Vince, you're an idiot," Cedric groused, the rustle of clothes heard clearly on the background. "You have a damn tumour, any strain…"  
"Yes, I know. My nose and ears are already bleeding. I don't think I'll see this morning, Cedric."  
"You bloody going to, Vince," the other agent snapped. "I'm calling Morgana. Don't you dare to die on me!"  
"Without saying my goodbyes properly?" Vincent joked weakly. "Who do you take me for?"  
"Yes, about that," judging by the sound of harried footsteps, Cedric was already running along the corridor. "Do you want me to bring Max along?"  
"No," the wizard's voice sounded unexpectedly firm.  
"He has a right, Vince," Cedric objected.  
"Yes, I know. And I also know that he will do his damnedest to heal me," Vincent replied. "Considering the state I'm in, it's already impossible, and will probably cause a lot of damage. We aren't young, Cedric, and I want him to honour me by living long and happy life. And before you interrupt, we are not bonded, so my death won't affect him that much."  
"I'm not talking about the bond, Vince," Cedric took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. "I'm talking about you not being fair to him."  
"He rejected me first," the wizard pointed out stubbornly. "I have no obligations…"  
"He changed his mind after that," Bors reminded him, a faint sound of the electronic lock opening heard on the background.  
"Too late. Are you trying to distract me, Cedric?"  
"Maybe. Is it working?"  
"Don't make me laugh, old chap," Vincent coughed – a strange, wheezing sound with a bit of gurgling thrown in. Bors froze, desperately trying NOT to imagine his friend's condition right now. "And don't panic. I'm not dead yet."  
"Shame you don't want to continue being in this state," Cedric grumbled, finally coming into Alasdair's room and trying to keep his expression neutral after seeing Vincent.  
The wizard turned to look at him, his tired smile seeming grotesque with all the blood staining his lips and trickling down his chin. "I would love to, my friend, but unfortunately I have a debt to repay."  
"Which wouldn't have happened if you two bloody idiots had sorted this mess out in the first place," Bors pointed out, exasperated. "And why did you choose to draw the downfall to yourself still beyond my comprehension."  
"Because Max has a family," Vincent said simply. "Speaking of which: shouldn't you finally pay attention to our young Guardian?"  
"Gladly, as soon as you'd tell me all the necessary details," Bors replied, moving towards the bed to judge the extent of the damage.  
"There's not much to tell," finally deciding to take care of the on-going bleeding, the wizard pulled out his handkerchief and made an attempt to wipe the blood from his face and neck. "I happen to have Excalibur under close surveillance, - and don't you dare to say something witty about that, - so I caught him moving his legs without any aid. He seemed to freeze for a several minutes after that, so I decided to interfere. He told me he had a nightmare, which I determined to be a Premonition, and a cursed one besides. Hence me arriving here, seeing golden dots in his irises and trying to do my best in taking care of the problem."  
"You did an excellent job with that, by the way," Bors remarked, prying Alasdair's eyelids open to study his eyes. "Basically you left me the final touch. Pity we're about to rob him of his small victory."  
"He'll get it back soon, don't worry," Vincent closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in order to ease his blinding headache. "Now do your thing and get back to me – I have something to tell you. Last request and so on, you know."  
"Mm-hm," Cedric replied distractedly, concentrating on Alasdair and shutting the rest of the world out. His final touch consisted of a few precise manipulations with the damaged brain tissue, and then some tweaks in order to speed up the healing process.  
He finished just in time for Morgana and her team to burst into the room, gurney and equipment at the ready. Taking in the situation before her, their sorceress motioned towards both Alasdair and Vincent, but the latter just waved them off, beckoning Cedric to come closer.  
"I'm not the one you should be concerned about," he insisted. "Don't argue, Morgana. You've seen my scans; you know it all had been leading to this."  
"Yes, I know," she came closer and leaned forward to frame his face with her palms, her thumbs caressing his cheeks in barely-there swipes. "I just wish I could've done something to help you."  
"You already did, my love," Vincent managed a small smile. "Now off you go and take care of our soon-to-be Merlin. I have a few matters to settle, so I need a tête-à-tête with Bors."  
Morgana nodded and motioned for his team to move already placed on the gurney Alasdair out of the room, when the wizard suddenly called them to stop.  
"One more thing," Vince said firmly, sitting up in his armchair and looking around in search of something. "Can anybody give me my clipboard? And bring the lad closer to me, please."  
Both his requests were immediately fulfilled, and Vincent fiddled with his electronic clipboard, activating it and typing something in. Satisfied with the result, the wizard reached out, placed one of Alasdair's palms on the clipboard and held it there till the device gave a series of short beeps.  
"Here, everything in order now," their Merlin murmured, leaning back and relaxing into his armchair. "Keep the clipboard close to him, please."  
Bors looked at his colleague with wide eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "Merlin, did you just..."  
"Yes, I did," the other man confirmed. "And, before you start freaking out, I should remind you that in some aspects my decisions surpass Arthur's."  
"Our friendship seems to be included in those aspects," came Maxwell's voice from the doorway, and Merlin, startled, straightened up in his chair, glaring at the intruder. "Don't look so surprised, I had hacked you feed long time ago."  
The wizard's glare softened, transforming into a smile which also tugged at the corners of his lips. "My dearest friend, you think I don't know that?"  
Bors, accessing the situation quickly, cleared his throat. "Right… I think I should take my leave. You two have a lot of personal matters to discuss…"  
Vincent looked ready to protest, but Maxwell cut him short. "Yes, Cedric, if you would be so kind."  
"Of course," Bors briefly leaned forward to pat Merlin's shoulder consolingly, then straightened and headed towards the door. "It was an honour working with you, Merlin."  
"Likewise, Bors," Vincent replied, his petulant stare daring Maxwell to interrupt. "Good luck and be safe, my friend. And… till we meet again," he added, a mischievous smile lighting his entire face.  
"Kids," Maxwell grumbled, finally moving into the room and allowing Cedric to step out.  
"Thank you, Gawain," Bors nodded and, already in the corridor, called out over his shoulder. "Have a safe journey to the Great Beyond, Merlin."  
"I shall certainly endeavour to, Bors," Vincent replied and, closing his eyes, slouched back into his armchair.  
"So," Maxwell closed and locked the door. "You decided to leave me without a chance of properly saying goodbye to you," he tsked, shaking his head. "Not a very gentlemanly thing to do, my friend."  
Vincent opened one eye and peered at the other agent in contemplation. "Well, if you had hacked my feed, you know my reason for doing so."  
Maxwell huffed and crossed the room, pulling a chair to sit across of his stubborn friend. "Doesn't mean I have to accept it."  
Vincent sighed, closed his eye and leaned his head back. "I suspected you wouldn't, so I let you continue spying on me. The question is what are you going to do now?"  
Maxwell leaned forward, reaching out and taking Vincent's hands in his. "Whatever you want me to, my dearest friend."  
The wizard rolled his head to the left, opening his eyes again to look at the other agent. "Even if I would ask you not to interfere?"  
"Whatever. You. Want. Me. To," Maxwell repeated, punctuating his words by gentle strokes of his fingers along the backs of Vincent's hands.  
The wizard took a shuddering breath, his calm façade shattering. "Hurts so badly, Max," he whispered, face scrunching up in pain. "If only you could make it go away… forever…"  
Maxwell stopped his gentle ministrations, his hands tightening their grip around Vincent's. "Vince," he called softly. "Look at me."  
The wizard obeyed, his pain-filled gaze locking onto Maxwell's.  
"Are you asking me to..," the other Kingsman swallowed, unable to finish the phrase.  
"Yes," Vincent's voice was weak but full of calm, his face once again a picture of serenity. "You said whatever I want you to. And I want you to help me end it all."  
"I knew you would say that," Maxwell's fingers resumed their delicate caress. "Doesn't make it easier, though."  
"I'm sorry for putting you through this, Max," Vincent's eyes were clouded with pain, but there was nothing but gratitude and a bit of regret in his gaze. "But you the only one I can trust."  
"I know," the other man replied, shaking his head. "Christ, if only I wasn't so stupid all those years back…"  
"If only," the wizard's smile looked more like a grimace, but his eyes were twinkling in mischief. "An excellent phrase to cover all the fuck-ups in one's life. Don't beat yourself up too much; we both weren't examples of rational thinking back then."  
"Speaking of which," Maxwell let go of Vincent's hands and stood up. "I don't think it would be wise for you to die in my nephew's room, don't you agree? Not to say that I'm totally willing to act as your knight in shining armour and escort you to your quarters."  
"If you'd be so kind, good sir," the wizard got to his feet with a muffled grunt, and was immediately steadied by the support of Maxwell's arms around his body.  
Together, they made their stumbling and wavering way to Merlin's sanctuary; halfway to there the bleeding started anew, so Vincent was forced to completely leave the navigation duty to Maxwell. The other man took it up without any complaint, even offering his handkerchief to stem the bleeding, which was gratefully accepted by Vincent.  
The relatively short journey seemed to completely exhaust the wizard, so when he finally was deposited onto his own bed he breathed a sigh of relief. Tugging wordlessly on Maxwell's sleeve, Vincent made the other man sit down on the bed beside him.  
"Thanks," his voice was barely a whisper. "Now comes the hardest part…"  
"Shhh," Max quieted him gently, placing a finger against his lips. "Don't rush it, my dear."  
Vincent gripped his wrist weakly and tugged his hand away. "Trying to make up for all the time that we'd lost, aren't you?"  
Maxwell carefully pulled his hand free of the wizard's grasp and, reaching towards him again, carded his fingers through his friend's hair. "What if I do?"  
For a few moments Vincent just looked at him, dark eyes full of sadness and sorrow; then, as if coming to some decision, placed his hands on Maxwell's arms. "Come here, you."  
He didn't need to say it twice: the corners of the other man's lips drew up into a small happy smile and he hastened to comply, stretching alongside his friend and tugging him closer, so Merlin's side was pressed flush with Maxwell's front. The wizard relaxed in his friend's embrace, going as far as to place both his arms over Maxwell's left one. Satisfied and content, the wizard turned his head to the left, brushing his nose against Maxwell's cheek first and placing a chaste kiss on it second. The other man returned the favour, rolling his bedmate gently onto his side and placing a kiss of his own: a full on the lips one.  
It wasn't passionate – just a brief touch of closed lips on both sides, but it seemed to finally break the dam. In the next moment they were kissing in earnest, desperately clutching at each other and tangling their fingers in each other's hair.  
Merlin broke the kiss first, pulling away slightly and framing his partner's face with his hands. "Sorry for stopping you, my dearest one, but bonding right now is not a wise idea. For both of us."  
Maxwell did his best to look thoroughly offended. "Don't tell me I'm losing my touch, Vince. You weren't supposed to notice anything!"  
"Not your fault, darling," Vincent grinned, caressing his partner's face. "Just me being perfect in everything I do, that's all."  
Maxwell geared up for a sarcastic response, but was effectively shut up with another long-lasting kiss.  
"Don't fight me on this, Max," the wizard whispered against his lips when they broke for air again. "I'm giving in to try and make it up to you, although I know it won't be enough. But there's nothing else for me to give…"  
"I know," Maxwell replied, nosing against Vincent's cheek. "And I know you're going to ask me a favour soon, so… let's just cherish this moment, hm?"  
Vincent responded with non-verbal assault of kisses and caresses which left Maxwell feeling boneless and gasping for breath. The wizard watched him with a small smile on his lips, idly tracing some intricate patterns all over his face. "Good enough for you, my dearest, or shall I repeat it once again?"  
"Just give me a moment," Maxwell whispered, a blissful smile playing on his lips. "And then hit me with all you've got."  
"I should have guessed you would be insatiable," Vincent murmured fondly, his caresses now encompassing his partner's shoulders, chest, sides and back. Maxwell basked in these caresses, eyes closed and small moans of pleasure punctuating his deep breaths. "My dearest one, you were right about 'what if'. Are you ready for repeat?"  
Max looked at him through half-lidded eyes, tongue darting out to lick at kiss-swollen lips – a picture of pure temptation. "Isn't it obvious?"  
A moment later they were at it again, but this time Vincent allowed his partner to take the lead – his headache has started again, stealing all the meagre remnants of strength he had left, but at least he wasn't bleeding anymore.  
Maxwell took him apart with his hands and lips with such tenderness that it made Vincent cry, and then, having kissed away his tears, held him till the wizard fell asleep, nestled securely in his arms. Their sudden bout of passionate intimacy was just a stave-off from their main problem: it still loomed over them, dark and terrifying, and Maxwell had no illusions about the way it was going to be solved. But for now Vincent was his and his alone, so Max tightened his embrace, shifting on the bed so he could tuck his partner's head under his chin. The wizard grumbled sleepily at that but soon settled again, his soft puffs of breath caressing the skin of his partner's chest.  
Falling asleep like that for Maxwell turned to be the easiest thing in the world.


	5. The Beginning of the Long Journey

Having held the position of Merlin for nearly twenty years, Vincent honed his senses to perfection. That's why he felt it as soon as his mind pushed its way through the thick fog of the dream to the surface of consciousness: something new was here, something he hadn't had experience of till now, but at the same time achingly familiar.  
"You just couldn't resist, could you?" Vincent grumbled without opening his eyes, shifting in Maxwell's embrace and causing the other man to adjust their positions with a slight grunt.  
"We are Destined, after all," Max murmured into his ear, tightening his arms around Vincent and thus preventing any further attempts at movement. "And in some cases, exceptions are allowed to be made."  
Vincent hummed distractedly, taking stock of his state: headache gone, mind sharp and clear, body feeling as if it had been pumped full of healing, revitalizing force.  
"I'd rather hoped they could," the wizard murmured, doing a bit of wriggling about in order to face his soulmate, despite Maxwell's half-hearted attempts to prevent so. "Well, that's was the plan, anyway," he elaborated, expecting a temper tantrum from his partner and, surprisingly, not getting any. "You are not mad?"  
"Why should I be?" Max shrugged his shoulders, his dark eyes full of support and understanding. "I never gave up on us, just waited for you to finally come to your senses."  
"I guess we both were waiting for a perfect moment," Vincent smiled. "Only in my case it took a near-death experience to finally clue in."  
Now that they were bonded, the wizard felt safe and secure. The urge of intimacy passed, leaving behind a sense of comfort and closeness with his soulmate. Through the centuries, bonding between soulmates required for them to be physically intimate to some extent, but, considering that they were in most cases unconsciously drawn to each other, it sort of came with the territory, whether the bonded ones were the same sex or not. Instincts took over, pushing the mind on the backseat; though all that happened usually included just kissing and cuddling.  
Maxwell chuckled and finally let Vincent go, ruffling his hairs with affection. "Sometimes you tend to be annoyingly absent-minded, my friend."  
"Well, until today I had an excuse for that," the wizard pointed out, raising an eyebrow.  
The Kingsman agent frowned at him in confusion, and then, with the realization dawning, reached out to touch his soulmate's temple. "Is it…"  
"Completely," the wizard caught his hand midway and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. "You did excellent job fixing it. Thank you."  
"Glad to hear that," Max pulled his hand out of Vincent's grip, laced their fingers together and gently wriggled their linked hands under his soulmate's cheek. "Mind if we stay like that a bit longer? I know you have your job, but…"  
"Actually, I don't," Vincent interrupted, smiling. "Not anymore. You've seen me pass my clipboard to Alasdair, haven't you? That's as close to official resignation as it gets."  
"You didn't!" Maxwell gaped at him, shocked. "Vince, he has zero experience, he would never…"  
"He's ready, believe me," the wizard reassured. "Besides, I will be there to guide him for the first couple of months. As will you and Bors. You have nothing to worry about, I promise," he tugged their hands out from under his head, unlaced their fingers and gently carded his through Maxwell's hair. "How about getting some more sleep? I have a feeling we both need it."  
"No arguments from me," Max murmured, lulled by the feather-light touches on his skull. "We are talking this through later, though."  
"Of course," Vince replied quietly. "Now go to sleep. I'll be there when you wake up."  
"Mm-hm," Maxwell mumbled, took a deep breath, and let sleep pull him under.  
Vincent smiled, placed a light kiss on his soulmate's forehead and dove into a deep slumber of his own.

* * *

It hadn't been the first time Alasdair was woken up by the insistent beeping of some Kingsman tech; however, seeing Arthur holding vigil at his bedside was certainly something new.  
"Sir?" the Scot croaked, trying to push himself up into a sitting position.  
"Welcome back to the land of living, Merlin," the older man replied with a small smile, reaching out to assist Alasdair in achieving his goal.  
"Thank you, Sir," the younger man replied automatically, and then it dawned on him. "Wait, what? How did you call me?"  
Their King gestured towards the bedside table, and Alasdair finally identified the source of the annoying beeping.  
Merlin's electronic clipboard.  
Finally succeeding in propping himself up, Alasdair grabbed the clipboard, pinching in the security code and disabling the alarm without any hesitation. Chester simply watched him, nodding in approval.  
As soon as the young agent realized what he had just done, he almost threw the device across the room. "What the…"  
"Language, young man," Chester scolded good-naturedly. "Vincent spent nearly twenty years perfecting this equipment; would be unwise to allow all his efforts go to waste, wouldn't it?"  
Alasdair looked at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending. "Sir, what's going on? Where's Merlin? Why did he give his clipboard to me?"  
Their King sighed, shaking his head and carefully tugging the device out of Alasdair's grasp in order to replace it with a glass of water. "As far as I'm aware, Vincent is busy exploring the benefits of his new status as a bonded one. Your uncle is actively participating in the process, by the way. As for his clipboard – it was his way of transferring his status to you. And, as I can guess, he also passed all the relevant information through the neural link when he attempted to heal you… So, welcome to Kingsman, Merlin."  
Alasdair took a sip of water, deep frown creasing his forehead. "With all due respect, Sir, I don't remember any of it, I'm afraid."  
"I would've been surprised if you did, my boy," Chester replied, placing the clipboard back on the bedside table. "According to agent Bors, the damage done to your brain was so severe that he had no choice but to literally reconstruct parts of it. Hence the memory loss, but I'm sure it can be remedied."  
"I hope so, Sir," Alasdair nodded, his expression thoughtful. "As you had already mentioned, Vincent managed to download some information directly into my brain, and, according to it, there is some sort of a standard procedure I need to take part in for my official instatement as Merlin."  
"Yes, there is one," the head of Kingsman confirmed. "You will be put through it shortly, but not before you'd visit your uncle and his new bondmate. I have a feeling the three of you have much to discuss. Also, if I understand correctly, Bors has appointed himself as your temporal Guide, so you should talk to him too. After those two meetings we shall see about your instatement. You should settle all relevant matters before you'd accept the mantle of Merlin."  
"Then, I guess, I'd better..," the Scot paused, frowning, and tugged the blanket off his legs. "Wait a minute… It can't be!"  
Arthur, with a small smile on his lips, watched as shocked Alasdair peered at the wriggling toes on his left leg. "Something is the matter, my boy?"  
"Yes," the young soon-to-be Merlin looked at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. "It's not possible, I'm…"  
"It certainly is, considering Bors' intervention," Chester replied softly. "Your Guide did his best to preserve your small achievement, so you would not be forced to start from scratch."  
"I should definitely thank Cedric, as soon as I'll pay a visit to my uncle," Alasdair looked at his toes again, wriggling them in delight. "And sign up for rehab as soon as Morgana gives me the all clear."  
"It's good to see you so enthusiastic," Arthur smiled and, reaching out, patted Alasdair's arm. "Just try not to overwork yourself – you have a lot to learn before you can finally and fully get into the usual swing of things at Kingsman."  
"Thank you for the advice, Sir," the Scot smiled at his superior. "I'll do my best to follow it."  
"I have no doubts about that," Chester rose from the chair, straightening his suit. "I guess I should take my leave then. I'll ask the nurse to take care of your clothes and the wheelchair. Have a nice day, Merlin."  
Alasdair suddenly found himself blushing. "Sir, I'm not instated yet…"  
"It's just a formality, nothing more," their King smiled slightly. "Vincent's opinion is all that matters to me, and he chose you as his successor without any hesitation. And, seeing your eagerness to resume your duty at Kingsman, I think we can skip the evaluation process. Consider yourself instated, and, if you don't have any objections, we'll hold a small ceremony tomorrow morning."  
Alasdair, humbled by Chester's praise, unconsciously straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "I would be honoured to participate, Sir."  
"Good," Chester smiled again. "Have a nice day and see you tomorrow," with that, he left Alasdair's room, calling for the nurse on his way out.  
The young Scot, still a little stunned, managed to shift around a bit and lower his legs onto the floor. All he was left to do is to wait for the nurse's arrival, so, trying to spend the time productively, he concentrated on moving his toes again. To his utter delight, they moved, and not only on his left foot but on the right as well. He was so engrossed in the process that failed to notice the nurse pushing his wheelchair into the room. Only when she carefully placed her hand on his shoulder and called his name did he raise his head, looking at her soft smile and shining eyes.  
"Congratulations, Sir," she murmured, turning to take his neatly folded clothes from the chair and placing them on his lap. "Arthur informed us about your progress, but seeing it with my own eyes... You wouldn't believe how jealous the others in our shift are! Everyone says you're a real miracle, and I'm glad I saw you first."  
"You make it sound like something exceptional," Alasdair did his best to keep his expression neutral, but a hint of a smile still managed to break free – he had a reason to be happy, after all.  
"Well, because it kind of is," she replied, allowing herself to smooth down his hair. "You are our favourite, Sir, and I mean the whole Kingsman medical branch. When we heard that you woke up after that disastrous mission, we were overjoyed, and then the news about your paralysis... They were hard to accept, and our surgeons tried to do their best. So now, when your body started to heal for real... We are totally ready to assist you on your way to the complete recovery."  
"Thank you all for your generous offer, I will gladly take you up on it," the Scot smiled, unfolding the crisp white shirt and black trousers. "Miriam," he added, glancing at her nametag.  
"We will be waiting, Sir," the nurse returned his smile and nodded at his clothes. "Do you need any help?"  
"I'll manage," he declined politely. "And thank you for your support."  
"My pleasure, Sir. Hope to see you again soon," with that he turned and left the room.  
Shaking his head, Alasdair pulled on his shirt and buttoned it. Next came the trousers, and soon he, fully dressed, slid off the bed and into the wheelchair.  
It was time to visit his uncle and then his Guide, so the Scot reached towards his glasses, tapping the side and activating the channel. He was raised as a polite and well-mannered person, so he deemed necessary to warn Maxwell, Vincent and Cedric about his arrival…

* * *

Vincent was the first to wake up, roused by the beeping of Maxwell's glasses. The ex-wizard reached over his soulmate and snatched the glasses from the bedside table, carefully sliding them onto his partner's face. "It's either Dair or Cedric, so you'd better answer, my dear."  
Max grunted in reply and gingerly tapped the side of his glasses. "Yes?"  
"Good evening, Uncle," Alasdair's voice was full of barely contained excitement. "Arthur paid me a visit not long ago and told me the news. Congratulations are in order, I guess?"  
By that moment Vincent also managed to put his glasses on, and joined the conversation. "Evening, Dair. And don't be alarmed that Maxwell wasn't the first to answer – he's a heavy sleeper, as you know."  
"'m not," the man in question mumbled, blindly pinching his bedmate in retaliation and getting an indignant 'ow!' in reply.  
Alasdair, who listened to the whole exchange with a smile, gave a light chuckle. "Got you straight under your ribs, Vince?" he enquired, voice full of amusement.  
"Yes," the ex-Merlin grumbled. "How did you know?"  
"His favourite tactic," the young Scot explained. "Hope you aren't ticklish, because he tends to employ that as well."  
For the next several minutes Alasdair heard only the sounds of energetic shuffling, interrupted by grunts and stifled laughter – Vincent obviously came to the right conclusion.  
Finally, when both soulmates quieted, Vincent was back on the line, his voice a little breathless. "It works both ways, lad. Thanks for the info."  
"Glad to help, Vince," the young agent replied, and grinned when he heard his uncle's muttered 'Oh, you're so paying for this, boy!' "Is it safe to come over? I have a lot of news to tell."  
"Of course, Dair, we'll be happy to see you," Vincent responded immediately, and then raised his eyebrows at Maxwell's insistent prodding. His soulmate mouthed 'Bors' immediately after, and the ex-Merlin nodded, giving him the thumbs-up. "Maxwell suggests inviting Cedric as well, what do you think about that?"  
"Good idea, actually," Alasdair's voice acquired notes of excitement. "Should I call him and pick him up on my way? Oh and where are you now, by the way?"  
"We're in Vince's quarters, lad," Maxwell finally managed to get a word in. "And it'll be great if you'd succeed in bringing your Guide with you. See you in twenty minutes?"  
"Sure, we'll be there in twenty," the young Scot confirmed. "See you soon!" with that, he terminated the connection.  
Maxwell pulled his glasses of and fixed his partner with a hard stare. "I really hate you, you know," he groused. "We were having such a cozy lie-in, and you'd made me invite over not only my nephew, but Bors as well. Happy now?"  
"Oh, so it's MY fault now?" Vincent pushed at his soulmate's chest playfully. "Need I remind you that it were YOUR glasses Dair called, hm?"  
"You could just let them rest," Maxwell objected, rolling onto his back and stretching languidly.  
"He would've just called me right after that," Vincent replied, watching his partner's movements with clear appreciation. "Shower?"  
"You first," Maxwell rolled off the bed and sprang to his feet with surprising agility. "You still happen to have my emergency change of clothes, I hope?" he enquired, looking at his wrinkled attire in distaste.  
"Mm-hm," Vincent was on his feet in a few graceful movements. "Hadn't had the heart to throw them out. In my wardrobe, on the right."  
Maxwell rounded the bed and caught Vincent in a bone-crushing hug, which the ex-wizard endured with stoical calmness. "Knew I could always count on you," the former agent murmured, forehead resting against his partner's shoulder.  
"Couldn't have been otherwise," Vincent responded, going for a strong hug of his own. "What friends are for, and all that jazz, you know."  
They stood like that a bit more, until Maxwell took a deep breath and pushed Vincent away gently. "You need to shower, and I need to change. Our guests are already on their way, I guess."  
"Right," the ex-Merlin let his arms fall to his sides and took a step back. "Shower. See you in a few."  
"Sure," Maxwell turned and strolled to the wardrobe.  
Vincent looked at him for a few moments, then shook his head slightly, pivoted on his heels and sauntered into the bathroom…

* * *

Alasdair tapped his glasses and selected Bors' private channel, making a call. While waiting for his newfound Guide's answer, he pulled the navigation screen out of the wheelchair's arm and quickly programmed his route – first to Cedric's room, then to Vincent's.  
"Something's the matter, lad?" Bors enquired a few seconds after, his voice smooth and soothing.  
"Nothing," the young agent reassured quickly. "Just wanted to ask if you could accompany me to my uncle and Vincent's newly shared quarters."  
"With pleasure," the Guide's tone blossomed with warmth. "Good to know that all three of you had pulled through. How are you feeling, by the way?"  
"Excellent and I have you to thank for that, haven't I? Arthur told me you did your best in preserving my achievements, however small they were," Alasdair paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm lucky to have you in my life and as my Guide too."  
"The feeling's mutual, boyo," judging by the background sounds, the older agent was in a process of getting dressed. "You're on your way to my room, I guess?"  
"Um-hm," the Scot confirmed. "About to knock on your door, actually."  
A moment later the aforementioned door opened, revealing Cedric who was dressed similarly to Alasdair: snow-white shirt and dark trousers; the only difference in their attire was Cedric's cashmere cardigan.  
"Wow," Alasdair breathed out, unable to hide his surprise. "You look… different."  
Cedric flashed him a wide grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I hope you didn't think that Kingsman knight wears only bespoke suits for the rest of his life?"  
"No, of course not," the Scot shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "It's just that we don't see each other in casual situations very often, you know? Most of the time we just passing each other in HQ corridors, or working together on missions…"  
"You've never been to our weekend parties, lad?" there was a slight frown on Cedric's forehead. "I can't believe Maxwell forgot to tell you about them!"  
"He told me," Alasdair objected, looking away in embarrassment. "It just… I never had a chance to go, what with missions and other stuff…"  
"Shame on Max," Cedric shook his head, tsking reproachfully. "But don't worry; now you have me. We'll take care of your uncle's miscalculation. And, if my info is valid, your potential soulmate has a few ideas about living life to a full. Actually I won't be surprised if he would do his damnedest to spoil your other Satellite rotten in this area."  
"Not if I'd have any say in this," the Scot objected, his expression hardening a little. "There are rules that should be obeyed anyway."  
"Oh yes," Cedric finally took a step into the corridor and, turning around, closed and locked the door to his room. "Funnily enough, one of those rules states that as soon as the Guardian with two Satellites finds the first one, he ceases to be the one holding all the power. Until the first Satellite locates the second one, all bets are off. Neatly done, huh?"  
"What?" Alasdair managed to blurt out, stunned, while Cedric first turned to look at him with a shit-eating grin plastered onto his face then sauntered away along the corridor, leaving the younger man no other choice but to follow.  
Good Lord, what the hell was he getting himself into?


	6. Family Council and The Late Night Rescue

By the time Vincent emerged from the bathroom, looking refreshed and meticulously towelling his hair, Maxwell, in his spare clothes, was already waiting for him on the couch with the coffee table dragged closer and a steaming cup of coffee placed on it – black with a dash of milk and two sugars added, exactly as the ex-Merlin liked.  
"Feeling domestic already, aren't you?" Vincent gave his hair the final pat and, throwing the towel in the direction of the laundry basket, crossed the room and sat down beside his partner.  
Maxwell shrugged, taking a sip from his own cup. "Just taking care of you, that's all. Isn't that what soulmates are supposed to do?"  
"Reasonable," Vincent reached for his cup, took a sip and sighed in bliss. "Speaking of care: how about extending coffee favours to our arriving guests?"  
"Oh, I'm planning to, don't worry," Maxwell raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm just waiting for their arrival; hate for such excellent coffee to go cold."  
"Does it mean you're going to pester me about the food if I fail to appear at the table in time?" ex-Merlin inquired, starting to look slightly alarmed.  
"You can count on that," the other man confirmed, obviously enjoying his soulmate's flustered expression.  
"Oh God, I've bonded with a monster," Vincent groaned, rolling his eyes. "Please tell me you're joking."  
"Unfortunately, no, whether you like it or not," Maxwell was smiling, but his eyes were serious. "You've given almost your entire life to Kingsman; it's time for you to be properly cared about by someone who gives a damn about your wellbeing."  
Something in his soulmate's voice made Vincent look at him more closely, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "All those years… Why didn't you say anything?"  
"Because I had responsibilities back then, and I made my choice," Maxwell's smile turned sad. "Not to say that you went all heroic with severing our bond and taking the backlash; enough reasons to develop a massive guilt complex."  
"And I made it worse by letting you stew in all that," the ex-wizard shook his head. "We are both idiots, Max."  
"We are humans, making mistakes is the part of our nature," Maxwell quoted, doing his best to impersonate an academic lecturer, and, judging by his soulmate's chuckle, successfully accomplishing his goal.  
"Thank God for second chances," Vincent commented, placing his cup on the saucer and reaching out to grasp his partner's arm. "And for finally bringing us together."  
Maxwell followed his example with the cup, and then covered Vincent's hand with his own, squeezing gently. "Yes, although I prefer to think that the divine intervention played a minor role in our getting together. Speaking of which…"  
He didn't have a chance to finish his phrase: there was a careful knock on the door, and the ex-wizard immediately sprang to his feet, pulling his arm out of Maxwell's grasp. "Sorry, my friend, but your revelation has to wait. They are here."  
"Considering that we have plenty of time ahead, it's not a problem, my dear," the ex-Gawain commented, getting up from the coach and following his soulmate to the door. "For now, let's concentrate on Dair's situation."  
"Of course," Vincent pressed his palm to the electronic lock's identification panel, and the door slid open, revealing a grinning Bors and a shell-shocked Dair on the doorstep.  
Maxwell and Vincent simultaneously rolled their eyes and stepped aside, allowing their guests to proceed into the room. "Cedric," both soulmates grumbled, causing Bors to raise his eyebrows in clear 'Who? Me?' expression.  
"I'm okay, don't worry," Alasdair said slowly, manoeuvring his wheelchair inside Vincent quarters. "And don't blame Cedric – he'd only repeated what Granny once told me. I just… It sort of seemed so far away…"  
"My dear boy, you aren't making any sense," Maxwell said softly, glancing at his soulmate and then following his nephew to the sofa. "Perhaps if you could explain…"  
The ex-Merlin, giving a small nod at his partner's silent enquiry, took a step towards Bors, blocking his path, and proceeded to stare the Kingsman agent down. "What the hell did you say to him, Cedric?"  
The other man, however, didn't seem to be intimidated by such stern approach. "Nothing but the truth, Vince. I just pointed out that searching for the second Satellite is purely the first Satellite's task. Your nephew had been aware of that before, but obviously didn't have time to realise all the implications of this fact."  
"I'm okay, Vince," Alasdair repeated, turning his wheelchair to face the rest of the company and parking it. "You can stop your attempts to intimidate my Guide; he was just trying to help."  
"Oh, really?" the ex-Merlin posture was still offensive. "Not what I would've called a productive strategy, judging by your condition."  
Alasdair took a deep breath, trying to keep his irritation at bay. "How many times I need to say it, Vince? I'm absolutely fine, stop being paranoid."  
"Vincent, my dearest," Maxwell murmured, instantly attracting his soulmate's attention. "Stand down. Picking fight with Cedric isn't the most rational strategy either. Why don't we all make ourselves comfortable and have a chat?"  
The ex-Merlin narrowed his eyes, giving Bors the final warning stare, and then moved away to fuss over Dair, helping his protégé to recline the back of his wheelchair slightly. Maxwell, meanwhile, mindful of his promise to provide their small company with freshly brewed coffee, headed in the direction of the small kitchenette in the corner of Vincent's quarters.  
Cedric, shrugging his shoulders carelessly, crossed the room and plopped down onto the sofa closer to Alasdair's wheelchair. Vincent huffed in exasperation, but chose not to say anything, but, having finished the adjustments, sat down into the nearest armchair. Cedric grinned at him and, reaching out, took hold of the arm of Dair's wheelchair, pulling it closer. The young Scot looked at him questioningly, but nevertheless un-braked the chair and rolled forward a little.  
"Trying to stake a claim already, Bors?" Maxwell teased, carefully carrying a tray on which were strategically placed four cups of coffee, sugar, milk, lemon and a small plate with biscuits.  
"Well, I wasn't planning to, but our former wizard changed my mind," Cedric chuckled. "Never expected him to be so territorial. About people, I mean."  
"That's because I never had the chance to handle you personally," Vincent commented, his voice smooth and seductive. "If I had..," he trailed off suggestively and then winced when Maxwell, who already took a seat beside him, calmly elbowed his flirting soulmate in the ribs. "Ow!"  
"Looks like I'm not the one possessive here," Cedric commented, winking at Dair. "You are lucky to have both of them in your life, boyo."  
"I know," the young man said simply, looking at Maxwell and Vincent with a soft smile. Both man returned the favour, their gazes warm and full of pride and adoration.  
This small episode seemed to change the atmosphere in the room: gone were possessiveness and domineering behaviour, replaced by a quiet tenderness which blanketed the room and caused the members of the company to fall absolutely silent.  
"Cedric," Vincent murmured, and the agent looked at him questioningly. "Thank you."  
"You're welcome, Vince," Cedric flashed him an infectious smile and, turning slightly, caught Dair's gaze. "Sorry for shocking you, I didn't mean to."  
"That's okay, I needed to know," Dair replied, his expression thoughtful. "I just... it's a lot to take in. But I'll adapt, don't worry."  
"I have no doubt, believe me," Bors reassured. "Especially considering that I'll do my best to help you."  
Maxwell and Vincent just looked at them, content with just a simple observation and nevertheless providing a silent support – both Alasdair and Cedric felt it, smiling at them gratefully in return.  
"Where's my manners," the young Scot murmured suddenly and then shook his head slightly. "Uncle, Vincent, forgive me for being a bit absent-minded. Congratulations to you both on finally going through with your bond."  
"Thank you, dear boy," both soulmates answered simultaneously and then, looking at each other couldn't help but grin in amusement.  
Cedric tapped Dair's hand to get his attention. "That's how Destined interaction looks most of the time, boyo," he commented in a low voice. "Perfect synchronization, which sometimes can be a shade annoying to the audience."  
Vincent cleared his throat. "That's flattering, Bors, but not entirely correct. All soulmates synchronise with each other, but Destined ones tend to be telepathic as well."  
Alasdair's eyes widened. "Shit," he said eloquently and fell silent while Maxwell elbowed his partner again.  
"Well done, Vince," Cedric chuckled. "What were you saying about the ineffective strategy?"  
"Enough, both of you!" Maxwell barked suddenly, causing the rest of the company to look at him with their mouth open. "Alright, listen up, everyone. First of all, we are going to drink coffee before it gets cold. After that, we're going to talk. Is that clear?"  
Dair and Cedric, still stunned, responded with slow nods. Vincent, his eyes shining with adoration, simply threw both his arms around his soulmate and, tugging him closer, nosed at his cheek affectionately. "Love it when you get bossy," the ex-Merlin whispered into his partner's ear, causing him to shiver and attempt to pull away, albeit without much result – Vincent's hold appeared to be unexpectedly strong.  
Dair, who was looking at them with a soft smile, suddenly frowned. "Speaking about bossy – I'm not officially Merlin yet, and you're already retired. So who's running the tech department right now?"  
Vincent was about to answer when Cedric unexpectedly cut in. "Oh, don't worry; he has a bunch of highly trained professionals who are unconditionally devoted to him. My Nimue, for instance. So I'm pretty much interested in you officially taking up the mantle of Merlin. Me and Caradoc both, in fact."  
Vincent quirked up an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. "Ian is complaining already, I take it?"  
Cedric didn't rise to the bait, quirking up an eyebrow of his own. "Wouldn't you be?"  
"Touché," the ex-Merlin said simply, turning to look at Maxwell and placing a quick kiss on his temple. "Now, shall we get down to business?"  
"Of course, provided that you would postpone your attempts to repeatedly stake claim on your soulmate," Cedric grumbled. "I know you can't help it right now, so let's just decide on our course of action for the nearest future and bid good night to each other."  
"Sounds good," Vincent agreed calmly, keeping Maxwell within his embrace. "Besides, there aren't many points to clarify, as I understand. Dair is going to be officially instated in the morning, and, if memory serves, you promised to begin his training tomorrow. Am I correct?"  
"Almost," Cedric confirmed. "But there's one thing – or someone, to be exact, - you haven't factored in."  
"You mean Harry Hart, I presume?" the ex-Merlin enquired, mock-frowning in concentration. "Why, is something wrong with him?"  
Maxwell sighed in exasperation and elbowed him again.  
"Ouch," Vincent let his soulmate go and shifted away from him. "Be careful, dear, I bruise easily."  
Alasdair rolled his eyes, not particularly amused by the older agent's antics. "Uncle, Vince, please. Cedric, what were you going to say about Harry?"  
Bors grinned at him. "First name basis already, boyo? Looks like I was right, you do have a proto-bond with young Hart after all."  
"Proto-bond?" the young Scot repeated, his forehead creased with frown. "Is that what you meant when you said I was already committed when Harry touched me?"  
"Exactly," Cedric nodded. "It's not a full bond, but you and he are mentally connected. Which means if something happens to you..."  
The older agent didn't have a chance to finish: his phone chose this exact moment to start ringing, and he pulled it out, looking at Alasdair. Nimue's number on the screen caused Cedric to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Vincent, seeing the change in Bors' expression and swiftly coming to the correct conclusion, motioned for him to put the phone on speaker; the older agent nodded in reply, pressed two keys in quick succession and immediately said: "Hello, Nimue, is something happened?"  
His Satellite's voice sounded worried. "Yes, Sir, a call just came through with a pass code 'Honour and purity'. If I'm not mistaken, it's Galahad's medallion, and I'm trying to get a hold of either Maxwell or Alasdair..."  
"Well, it's your lucky day, then, because they are both here with me. Patch the call through, Excalibur is ready to take it."  
Cedric quickly passed his phone to Dair, gesturing for him to speak. The line clicked, and, taking a deep breath, the young Scot quickly responded with: "Hello, Alasdair McKinnon speaking. How can I help you?"  
"Oh, thank God it's you!" Harry Hart sounded genuinely relieved. "Look, I don't know how it happened, but I'm blind and in hospital. Can you come and get me out of here? I have a lot of to tell you."  
To his credit, Harry almost managed to keep his calm – only when he asked to get him out of the hospital, did his voice waver a little.  
"Of course, Harry," Alasdair said soothingly. "Can you tell me which hospital are you in?"  
"I'm not sure, but I think it's a private clinic. My parents drove me here themselves. Does Harley Street ring any bells?"  
Vincent, Maxwell and Cedric, who were listening attentively, all nodded in unison; a moment later Vincent tapped Dair's arm and mouthed 'parents'. The younger man frowned at first, but a moment later, realisation dawning, hastened to respond:  
"Yes, it does, but I need to ask you something. Would your parents be agreeable if I take you to Kingsman medical facility? It's a long story, and I can't tell you everything right now, but..."  
"Is it because I'm your soulmate?" Harry interrupted bluntly, causing Alasdair to freeze and look at his older colleagues in panic. "I saw a strange dream, Alasdair. We both were in it and our third too. He is..."  
"You can tell me all about him later, Harry," the young Scot interjected, seeing Cedric vigorously shaking his head and making abortive gestures with his hands. "First of all, let's get you in our medical centre, and then, after your problems are solved, we will talk. You said you've gone blind; are you in the eye hospital now?"  
For a moment, there was silence; then:  
"Actually, I don't…"  
A sound of the door being opened, muffled voices, and the call suddenly disconnected.  
Maxwell's face was creased with a frown. "Dair, do you have his mobile number? I think he's in trouble, we need to get to him as soon as possible."  
The young Scot reached into the compartment of his wheelchair where Harry's dossier still was, but his mobile chose this exact moment to start ringing. The number on the screen wasn't familiar, but Alasdair took the call anyway and put it on speaker. "Alasdair McKinnon speaking."  
"Pleasure to meet you, Mister McKinnon," the voice on the other end was unfamiliar too, but sounded amiable and a bit concerned. "My name is Archibald Hart, I'm Harold's father. You are his soulmate, as I understand?"  
"His Guardian, to be exact. We met earlier today," for some reason Alasdair felt he could trust Harry's father, so he decided to tell him the truth. "Harry is in danger, and we need to take care of him as soon as possible."  
"We?" Archibald enquired calmly.  
"Kingsman. The organisation I work for," the younger agent ignored the less-than-pleased expressions on his colleagues' faces. "Harry accepted my proposal to become a candidate."  
"Somehow I'm not surprised," the older man said simply. "He always told us he had been destined for something special. I know about your organisation, I was offered an opportunity to become an agent when I was younger. Back then I refused it; can't say I hadn't had regrets afterwards. You said you need to take care of Harold; how exactly are you planning to do that?"  
"I'm going to take him to our medical facility," Alasdair replied firmly. "We have highly qualified specialists here, they can help Harry."  
"You sound sincere, Mister McKinnon," Archibald began, only to be interrupted.  
"Alasdair, please," the younger Scot said softly. "Or Dair, if you will. Harry is my Satellite; I guess we can skip the formalities."  
"I think I'm starting to like you, Alasdair," Harry's father chuckled. "Passionate and determined; you'll make an excellent Guardian. I guess you need the address of the clinic we're in?"  
"That would be great, Sir," the younger agent said, frowning. There was something about Archibald he couldn't quite put his finger on, but the other man felt strange. "If you don't mind me asking, Sir, who are you?"  
"Just Archie, Dair. You can skip the formalities too," there was a hint of smile in Archibald's voice. "Sensitive as well, I can tell. I happen to be the one you know as Seers."  
This sudden revelation apparently came as a surprise not only for Alasdair: he could clearly hear a faint 'What?' from Harry at the background. The young Scot couldn't blame his Satellite: to find out that your own father is a powerful and special being after so many years could be earth-shattering.  
"Dair, I'm afraid I need to disconnect," Archibald's voice pulled Alasdair back to the present. "I know I should have told my son earlier; now I need to deal with the consequences. I'm going to message you the address; please hurry up."  
The call disconnected, leaving the four of them in a stunned silence; a moment later Alasdair's phone buzzed with a message alert.  
It was Cedric who spoke first, shaking his head slightly. "A Seer. One hell of a Destined you are going to be, boyo. Alright, everybody, let's get going. We don't have time to waste."  
Half an hour later the four of them were speeding in the bullet train towards London; it took fifteen minutes for Vincent to clear their departure with Chester, and although their King wasn't at all happy with the idea, he gave his reluctant approval on the condition of Harry Hart to be brought into Kingsman estate within an hour and entrusted to the medical branch for the immediate evaluation, treatment and further observation.  
"There's one thing you are not going to like, Dair," Vincent announced when they got into an ambulance which was waiting for them near the tailor shop. "Chester now knows that Harry happens to be your Satellite, and there's a rule in Kingsman which forbids soulmates from being involved in training as mentor and candidate. So I'm going to take over as Harry's mentor. Chester isn't thrilled about it, but we have no other choice. Maxwell is your relative, and Cedric is your Guide, there's bound to be interference."  
"What about you being my uncle's soulmate?" Alasdair pointed out, raising his eyebrows.  
"Risky as well, but I'll do my best to keep it behind the shield," Vincent replied. "Besides, you'll have enough on your plate manning Kingsman as Merlin."  
"Add to that learning to be the Guardian, which is not an easy fit, especially when you already have a proto-bond," Cedric supplied matter-of-factly. "By the way, I think I know why Archibald Hart refused a chance to become a Kingsman. Seers are highly valued by government, so he probably already had been recruited."  
"Speaking of which," Alasdair tilted his head to the right. "What did you mean by us being one hell of a Destined?"  
"Seers have a gift of prediction, which allows them to protect the people closest to them," Cedric explained. "Archibald knows his son's fate, and will do everything to keep him safe. It applies to you as well, boyo."  
The young Scot nodded, his expression thoughtful; Cedric reached out and patted his arm in a gesture of silent support.  
Right at that moment the ambulance stopped, and Vincent was the first to reach for the door, pulling it open. As soon as he did that, the man which stood hear the entrance quickly crossed the distance to the car and stopped short, his expression troubled.  
"Alasdair?" he enquired, warm brown eyes quickly scanning the four of them and stopping on the younger man in the wheelchair. "Thank God you're here. Harold is getting worse – ten minutes ago he told me he can't feel his legs."  
The four Knights traded lightning-quick glances.  
"Shit," four voices muttered simultaneously, and a moment later all hell broke loose, resulting in a hurried departure of the ambulance less than ten minutes later.  
Sitting near the gurney on which Harry now resided, Archibald looked at Alasdair and shook his head. "No need to pretend, son," he said softly. "He's yours as well as you're his. Just take his hand and stop giving me the headache."  
Alasdair grinned and did as he was told.


	7. King & Hart

On their way to the mansion Alasdair briefly wondered if Chester King would disapprove of their decision to bring Archibald with them; however, the rest of their small company didn't seem concerned at all, and the young Scot just let it slide, concentrating instead solely on Harry. His Satellite seemed to sense that, judging by the fact that he turned his head in Alasdair's direction and, rotating his hand in the other man's grasp, stroked his fingers along his soulmate's palm.  
Touched by Harry's gentleness, Dair reached out, carding a hand through his soulmate's hair. "How are you feeling, Harry?"  
"Better, now that you're with me," Harry's voice was weak, but his smile was as cheerful as ever. "Allow me to return the favour: what about you? Must be something bad, if, even without proper bonding, I ended up like this."  
"Could have been worse, but I'm a Kingsman, so I have some privileges. I'm about to become Merlin, my uncle is an agent, and I've got the best Guide in the world…"  
"Speaking of this whole soulmate business," Harry interrupted softly, "have you seen our third?"  
"I guess I had, but I don't remember," Alasdair shrugged his shoulders. "I was told that my Guide had to do partial brain reconstruction, due to which I lost some memories. I guess the dream you're talking about was one of them."  
"Shit," the young Hart said under his breath. "Seems like I need to tell you about it, in case I would end up losing my memory too."  
Archibald chose that exact moment to interrupt them with a polite clearing of his throat. "Even if it happens, son, I'll do my best to help you remember."  
Startled at first by the sound of his father's voice, Harry pulled his hand out of Alasdair's grasp and reached out; Archibald's fingers wove themselves through his a second later, anchoring and grounding him. "You've seen everything, haven't you?"  
"I'm a Seer, my dear boy, it's sort of a job description," Archibald replied softly, giving his son's fingers a light squeeze. "Whatever happens, you can count on me."  
"Thank you, dad," Harry said quietly, causing Archibald to freeze with an expression of proud amusement on his face, - which, of course, Harry couldn't see but sensed all the same. "Took you by surprise, haven't I?"  
"A bit," the older Hart admitted. "I've been waiting for that, just didn't expect it to happen in such circumstances. Being a Seer doesn't make you all-knowing, my boy."  
"Well, it's good to know I still can keep something to myself," Harry grinned. "My private life at least, which, I hope, you would allow me to have without your constant supervision."  
"Oh, you can count on that, my son," Archibald picked the banter easily. "Especially considering the level of my current employment. Far more interesting than anything you can come up with, believe me."  
"And classified, I guess?" Harry raised an eyebrow.  
"Extremely," his father confirmed, and right after that the ambulance stopped.  
"Alright, here we go," Vincent muttered under his breath and reached towards the door, only to have in opened from the outside by none other than Chester King himself.  
"Arthur," Maxwell acknowledged, but their leader just waved his hand in dismissal, his gaze locked firmly on Harry's father.  
"I was wondering if there's more than one Archibald Hart in London," Chester murmured, a smile touching his lips. "Now I understand why Merlin and Gawain kept Harold's candidacy in secret till the last possible moment. Glad to see you again, Archie."  
"The pleasure is all mine, Chester," Archibald replied, getting out of the vehicle and a moment later finding himself in King's welcoming embrace, to the utter astonishment of those remaining in the ambulance. "I wasn't planning on visiting by the way, it all happened so fast that I had no other choice but to tag along."  
"Wise decision on your part," Chester commented and, finally letting Archibald go, turned his attention to the rest of the small group. "Well, it seems like my biggest secret is out. Gentlemen, allow me to properly introduce my soulmate. Archibald Gregory Hart, a Seer to whom twenty years ago I had pledged my allegiance as his Caretaker."  
Maxwell was the first to react. "So Cedric was wrong, you refused the offer because you were bonded to the leader of our agency."  
"Not exactly," the older Hart smiled. "Chester was the one to contact me about the offer, but as soon as we saw each other, we realised that my... ahem... employment was going to be of the entirely different sort."  
"I wondered if I'd heard your voice before," Harry said quietly, attracting everyone's attention. "Well, I can't see you right now, obviously, but you sound familiar."  
"Of course, son," Chester replied, moving closer to the car and reaching out to ruffle Harry's hair. "I had visited almost every week when you were young…"  
"But not later," the young Hart interrupted, frowning. "Why? Did something happen back then? Father was quite upset, by the way."  
Chester hesitated before answering, and Archibald stepped closer, as if trying to lend his Caretaker some wordless support. "We had… a bit of misunderstanding, your father and I," Chester said finally, his tone sounding abrupt and clipped. "One we weren't wise enough to put behind ourselves. It drew us apart for a long time… Till this very moment, to be exact."  
Sensing his Caretaker's distress, the Seer unconsciously drifted even closer and embraced his soulmate from behind, pulling Chester closer so his back was flush to Archibald's chest. The Kingsman leader stiffened for a second, but right after that promptly let himself go, leaning back against his significant other and relaxing into his embrace.  
"We all make mistakes," Archibald said softly. "At least you were wise enough not to sever our bond."  
Chester half-turned within the embrace to look at him. "Maybe I should have. Just let you go without causing so much pain."  
"No!" Archibald and Harry exclaimed simultaneously, causing Chester to raise his eyebrows in surprise.  
"Allow me, father," Harry pushed himself into a sitting position and, to everybody's astonishment, reached out to grasp Chester's still outstretched hand. Archibald kept silent, and Harry, emboldened by that, continued with his heartfelt objection. "You are wrong, Sir. Father never regretted being bonded to you, even when you were apart. He even told me once that meeting you was the best thing that could have happened to him in his entire life…"  
Stunned by those words, Chester looked around helplessly. This was against all rules and reservations he spent so many years instilling into his agents; his image of charismatic leader was on the verge of shattering, so he did the only thing that seemed logical – he pulled rank, trying to keep his commanding presence intact.  
"Now is neither the time nor the place for that," he said stiffly, stepping away from Archibald and breaking his embrace. "Our new candidate needs immediate medical attention, and as for you, Excalibur, I strongly suggest retiring to your quarters and having your quality rest – you have an important day tomorrow," with that, Chester made a prompt exit, leaving the rest of the group glancing at each other in shock. Well, except for Harry, who fell back onto the gurney, his face scrunched up in grimace.  
"Pointless," Archibald grumbled tiredly, being the first to break the silence. "Any attempt of heart-to-heart conversation, - he's shutting you out and running away."  
"Which is sort of weird, considering all the efforts he's putting into keeping your bond afloat," Harry agreed. "But he's right, you know: I bet it's awfully late already, and we should settle for the night."  
"Right," Vincent, still not able to let go of Merlin's role, climbed out of the ambulance and turned to look at the rest of the group. "First of all, we should get Harry into Medical. Any volunteers?"  
"Oh God," Archibald groaned, his gaze tracing something behind Vincent. "Here we go again."  
"Gentlemen," Chester's voice was pointedly polite. "Our medical team is ready to take care of Harold. The rest of you should retire to your quarters. Mister Hart, if you would be so kind to follow me, I will show you to the guest suite."  
"A generous offer, but I have to refuse, I'm afraid," Archibald replied coldly. "I'm going to spend the night near my son, if you wouldn't mind."  
"I mind," Chester matched his soulmate's intonation. "According to the preliminary report, your son's condition is quite severe and requires immediate treatment. Your presence will be nothing more than an obstacle for our medical personnel."  
"Nevertheless..," the older Hart began, his expression stubborn, but Chester didn't let him finish.  
"I have to insist, Archie," the Kingsman leader interrupted, his tone soft and placating. "I need to talk to you. Please, don't make this situation harder than it already is."  
Archibald didn't reply at first, levelling Chester with an irritated glare, but a few moments later huffed in exasperation, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine. You won. Lead the way. Everybody, see you all later."  
There was a chorus of goodnights, and Chester, smiling slightly, turned towards the mansion and started walking. Archibald shook his head and hurried after the Kingsman leader, easily falling into step to the right of him a few seconds later.  
"So many years, and I still can't get used to your spy tricks," Archibald murmured, keeping his distance while they still were in sight: Chester put quite an effort into his pretence, and the Seer felt he had no right to blow his cover.  
"Then I should congratulate you on your ability to take them in stride," the Caretaker replied, half-turning his head to flash him a warm smile. "Would you do me an honour by keeping me company tonight?"  
"How can I refuse such an invitation?" Archibald glanced over his shoulder. "I bet they are all wondering if you're going to lock me up somewhere."  
"I might," Chester chuckled. "To ensure your – and, subsequently, our, - safety."  
The Seer looked at him, eyebrows raised and eyes glinting mischievously. "Someone has big plans for tonight, it seems."  
"Considering that someone hasn't seen somebody for ages, I daresay it's not surprising," the Caretaker replied, winking at him. "We have a lot of things to discuss, don't you think?"  
"We certainly do," Archibald agreed, pausing as Chester opened the front door and then following his soulmate inside. "For example, how we are going to handle the situation now that my son is about to become a Kingsman."  
"Oh, I don't think it'll change anything," Chester stopped in front of the staircase. "Do you prefer our usual lodgings? I tried to keep everything as it was."  
"Ah, those good old days," Archibald smiled, his expression distant. "Do you still happen to make that excellent chamomile tea?"  
Chester turned to look at him, a fond smile on his lips. "Of course. You want a cuppa, I presume?"  
"Very much so," the Seer agreed, motioning towards the upper floor. "Shall we?"  
"Follow me," the Caretaker reached out to link their hands, and the two soulmates began their ascent...

* * *

"Are they serious?" Alasdair looked at the others, but was met with equally flabbergasted expressions. "Harry is in trouble, and his father just goes away with our King!"  
"They are soulmates, boyo, it's perfectly natural," Cedric said calmly, getting out of the van while pulling the gurney with him. "Guys, a bit of help would be marvellous."  
Vincent and Maxwell at once moved to comply: the ex-Merlin assisted his successor with maneuvering the wheelchair out of the van and gurney's way, and Alasdair's uncle lent a hand in getting Harry's gurney to the entrance of the mansion.  
Their small group reunited near the door just in time to be met by Morgana and her crew. Kingsman's resident sorceress took one look at her patient and immediately motioned for her crew to move Harry onto the Kingsman-issued gurney.  
Alasdair, seeing the look of concern on Morgana's face, wheeled his chair forward and touched her arm. "That bad, huh? Can I come with him?"  
"Pretty much, dear," the sorceress shook her head. "And of course you can, although only to the door of his hospital room – I'm going to put him into the intensive care unit, which means you would not be able to stay. Besides, you have a big day tomorrow, so you should rest – it's late, and you need your sleep to be bright and cheerful at your initiation."  
The young Scot rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "I'm okay. Harry, on the other hand…"  
"…will be taken good care of, don't worry," Morgana said firmly. "Now, are you ready? I even prepared to give you five minutes at his bedside. How does it sound?"  
"Perfect," Alasdair smiled.  
"Good. Follow me."  
Half an hour later Alasdair bade his goodnights to Cedric, Vincent and Maxwell near his quarters, and drove inside to prepare for the night. Morning was coming close, and he needed to be at his best for the ceremony. With that in mind, he quickly went through his evening routine, got into bed and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow…

* * *

Archibald took a sip from his cup and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes in bliss. "Your tea is perfect, as always, Ches. I really missed it, you know. And I missed you, all that time."  
"I know," the Kingsman leader took his own cup from the table. "But we were following rules, that's all. Although seeing you once a year for just an hour was a bit over the top, I admit."  
"Yes, until we had figured out that me catching a cold or having a migraine required your constant presence by my side," Archibald chuckled. "We made a good use of that fact, don't you agree?"  
"Oh yes, we did," Chester smirked. "Good thing they gave you a house in the country without neighbors, or somebody would've certainly come to investigate our midnight vigils."  
"They would've been disappointed," Archibald took another sip of his tea. "Classical music and cards – hardly a matter for the blackmail."  
"Yes, but you got creative after our third vacation," Chester's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'd always wondered how you managed to explain your shopping sprees. Or not to get overweight, for that matter."  
"I had an extensive workout afterwards," Archibald replied, unruffled.  
"So did I," Chester got up and, crossing the room, opened the fridge. "I had it fully stocked just before your arrival."  
"Not tonight, Chester, I'm sorry," the Seer shook his head, regret written clearly on his face. "But I guess I'm staying for a while, so we can have our usual celebration any time we want."  
"Of course," Chester closed the fridge. "Just wanted you to know. As for tonight, I have no other plans but letting you rest. You and I have a big day tomorrow."  
"Pity it all going to end badly. For me and you, I mean," Archibald finished his tea. "If only I could change that…"  
"We both know it's a fixed point in time," Chester objected, walking back to the sofa and sitting down. "Don't blame yourself, Archie. They are the new era, they need space."  
"I know, but it doesn't make the situation any easier," Archibald sighed. "Although I'm not the one to complain, considering that I'm the first to go."  
"That's why I wasn't keen on anybody bringing Harry into Kingsman," Chester retorted. "But apparently, nobody cares about my opinion."  
"Don't be so melodramatic, dear, your people are loyal and respectful to the extreme," Archibald objected, smiling. "Life runs its course, and sometimes we can do nothing but observe."  
"The next thing you're going to say is that Harry and Alasdair are Destined, and we can't change it," Chester rolled his eyes. "I'm an old man, Archie, I have a right to grumble."  
"Of course, dear, and I know just the way to make you feel better," the Seer smiled.  
The Caretaker turned to look at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Do you, now? And what might it be, I wonder?"  
"Easier to show you, Ches," the Seer, with a warm smile on his face, shifted closer and enveloped his soulmate in a hug. The Kingsman leader tensed at first, but a moment later relaxed into the embrace, resting his head against Archibald's shoulder. The latter tightened his arms and placed a quick kiss on Chester's temple. "My God, I really missed this. Missed you."  
"You could have stayed," Chester murmured, turning his head to nose through his soulmate's short hair. "Prophesy be damned, we could have figured something out."  
"Wishful thinking and you know that," Archibald raised his left arm to card his fingers through Chester's hair. "You can't cheat fate; you know full well how it ends. Maxwell and Cedric tried, and you almost lost your former Merlin as a result."  
"Must you be so proper right now?" Chester complained, leaning forward and therefore causing Archibald to shift until he was flat on his back with Chester draped over him and stroking his face with the tips of his fingers.  
"No, apparently, but I think we should get more comfortable," the Seer deadpanned, managing to keep his face expressionless, but failing quickly and allowing a smile to curl his lips.  
"Does it mean I'm allowed to stay?" the Caretaker raised his eyebrows, feigning disbelief.  
"It's your room as well as mine, I don't see why not," the Seer shrugged his shoulders and started to stroke Chester's back.  
"Excellent," Chester carefully slid out of the embrace and stood up. "And it's OUR room, by the way. So why don't you take a shower while I make the bed? Your spare clothes are still in the wardrobe, and I have no doubt they'll fit."  
"I hope so," Archibald rose from the sofa and wandered over to the wardrobe, opening it and picking more comfortable and domestic outfit. "Mind if I prepare two cups of hot cocoa before our sleep? We both seemed to be quite fond of it back in the good old days…"  
The Caretaker, who already was busy turning down the bedcover and fluffing the pillows, turned to look at his soulmate with a wide smile on his lips. "I thought you'd never ask. Of course! If only you knew how I craved it while we were apart! Take a shower first, though. You'll feel much better."  
"Of course, dearest one," the Seer threw his spare clothes over his arm, winked at his soulmate and sauntered into the bathroom. The Caretaker just shook his head and continued to straighten the bed…  
Half an hour and two cups of delicious cocoa later, both soulmates settled on the bed, facing each other.  
"Good night, Ches," Archibald leaned forward to place a quick kiss on his partner's forehead and then moved back, resting his head on the pillow and closing his eyes.  
"Good night, Archie," Chester replied, returning the favour and then snapping his fingers to turn off the lights. "Pleasant dreams, my precious one."

* * *

In his hospital room, Harry Hart finally settled into a deep, dreamless sleep, his heartbeat slowing down to normal. Morgana let go of his hand and breathed a sigh of relief. Surprisingly enough, their new patient's eyesight was back to normal without any treatment, and she had no doubts his legs were fine too.  
She were able to usher Alasdair out after five minutes at Harry's bedside; luckily for her, the young agent hadn't put up any fight, probably because of his upcoming initiation.  
Agent Bors managed to surprise her, however, turning up in the infirmary half an hour later and practically begging her for permission to see Harry. Proper timing for treatment was paramount, as he explained, and Morgana decided to give Bors a chance.  
He didn't take long, and she wasn't mistaken, as it turned out.  
Sometimes having a Healer amongst their ranks wasn't a bad thing, especially one of Cedric's calibre. Such people came once in a century, and Kingsman was fortunate enough to have recruited him.  
If only she could ignore the nagging uncomfortable feeling at the back of her mind…


	8. Getting to know you

Alasdair's sleep lasted less than two hours: he woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't get back to sleep no matter how hard he tried. Each time something seemed to pull him back to consciousness, and finally the young Scot gave up, turning his full attention to the annoying disturbance. To his immense surprise, it turned to be Harry Hart's voice, repeating his name over and over. Which was strange, considering that they weren't fully bonded and, therefore, couldn't yet have a telepathic connection.  
There was only way to solve this mystery, and Alasdair got out of bed and into his chair, not bothering to dress, apart from pulling on his favourite dressing gown. Two minutes later he left his room, directing his wheelchair towards Kingsman medical wing.  
The corridors of the underground base were mostly deserted – unsurprisingly so, considering that it was three in the morning. Kingsman personnel were either having their quality rest, or keeping vigil at their designated workplaces. It suited Alasdair just fine – the last thing he wanted is to explain why he was up at this odd hour.  
First thing the young Scot saw when he got to his destination was his Guide, slumped into the uncomfortable chair near the door to Harry's room and seemingly sound asleep. This was strange, so Alasdair immediately touched the control panel, stopping the chair, and right at that moment Cedric straightened in his chair and opened his eyes, roused by the whirring of the wheelchair's engine.  
"Dair," Cedric said softly as soon as his gaze fell on his young charge. "Somehow I'm not surprised, but just out of politeness: what reason brought you here so early?"  
There was warmth and understanding in Cedric's eyes, and, suddenly self-conscious, Alasdair looked away. "Sorry, Cedric, I… I thought I had heard his voice…"  
"You did, boyo," the older agent confirmed, getting to his feet and walking towards Alasdair. "Took a bit of work on my part, but your Satellite now as good as new. With all his memories intact, I may add."  
The young Scot jerked his head up with such speed that his neck cricked. "What did you just say?"  
"I think you've heard me perfectly the first time, boyo," Cedric's eyes were laughing. "Can't wait to see him, huh?"  
"Can I?" Alasdair did his best not to look too eager, settling on slightly pleading expression. "I know there are rules…"  
"Certainly, but there are also exceptions," Cedric smiled. "Go in, I'll deal with Morgana on your behalf."  
The younger man looked sheepish. "I don't want to get you or Harry in trouble…"  
"Don't worry, boyo, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself," Cedric grinned. "As for Harry, you presence will do him nothing but good, believe me."  
"I can confirm that," Morgana's voice sounded nearby, causing both men to jerk in surprise. "For an active agents you are too careless, gentlemen. What if I were an enemy?"  
"Then you'd probably be dead," Bors replied calmly. "Hate to disappoint you, but I heard you coming as soon as you had opened your door."  
"Of course," Morgana flashed Cedric a cheeky smile and turned her attention to Alasdair. "I hope you have no objections to us accompanying you, Merlin?"  
The young Scot sighed in exasperation. "I'm not officially Merlin yet, so there's no point…"  
"I saw Vincent passing you his clipboard," Morgana interrupted. "It means much more than the pompous but formal ceremony. Merlin's mantle is just a piece of cloth; Vincent always said that his power as Merlin is always at his fingertips."  
"Okay, okay," the new Merlin looked properly chastised. "Morgana, Bors, will you do me an honour?"  
"Of course, Merlin," both replied in unison, and the trio moved towards the door.  
Morgana was the first to step into the room; Bors followed, doing his best to keep Alasdair back – just to avoid trouble.  
Harry Hart, as it turned out, was very much awake, and determined to get to his Guardian as soon as he saw said Guardian crossing the threshold. His attempt, however, was quickly thwarted by Morgana, who cleared her throat and shook her head in disapproval.  
Huffing in annoyance, Harry settled back into his bed, but his gaze was firmly glued to Alasdair. The young Scot shivered, stunned by such raw emotions Harry was sending his way. Cedric obviously felt them too, because a moment later his hand settled on Alasdair's shoulder and the younger man sighed in relief as his Guide effectively shielded him from the overwhelming onslaught.  
And was that a growl Alasdair just heard coming from his Satellite's throat?  
"Harry?" Dair called softly, his voice tinted with hesitation. "Harry, are you alright?"  
The younger Hart quieted instantly, blinking in confusion. His eyes, previously unfocussed, closed for a few seconds, then opened again, full of recognition and worry.  
"Dair?" he breathed out, gingerly pulling himself into a sitting position. "What's going on?"  
"Just a bit of misunderstanding," Alasdair grinned. "How are you feeling, Harry?"  
"I'm not sure," Harry frowned, raising his hand to rub his forehead. "Where am I?"  
"In our medical facility," the young Scot answered. "You called me and asked for help, remember?"  
"Yes," Harry nodded. "And I remember my father being in my room…"  
"He went with you," Alasdair confirmed. "You haven't told me you knew that your father is our Arthur's soulmate."  
"I know I should have," Harry rearranged his pillow and leaned back. "But I thought it wasn't relevant."  
"It still isn't," Alasdair reassured immediately. "They have their story, we have ours."  
Harry tilted his head to the right, a mischievous smile touching his lips. "Someone seems to be jealous…"  
"Nothing of the kind," the young Scot raised his eyebrows. "Merely being curious, that's all."  
Morgana cleared his throat, drawing their attention to the rest of the audience. "Looks like we can safely leave these two alone. What do you say, Bors?"  
The older knight looked at her, his expression conflicted. "You think it's a good idea?"  
"Well," Morgana looked at the two soulmates. "I'm sure both of them are reasonable men and won't do anything drastic. Am I right, gentlemen?"  
"Sure""Of course," Alasdair and Harry replied in unison, and turned to look at each other, chuckling.  
"Kids," the sorceress muttered under her breath, shaking her head. Then, louder and pinning them down with her stare. "Behave, both of you."  
Bors, doing his best to look intimidating, stepped closer to Morgana and put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure they will. Shall we?"  
"In a moment," Morgana easily slipped out of Cedric's half-embrace and went to Harry's bed to check his vitals. "Mind the wires, will you?" she warned and left the room, grabbing Cedric's sleeve on her way out and tugging him along.  
As soon as they were left alone, Alasdair hurried to cross the distance between him and Harry, a few moments later safely parking his wheelchair near his soulmate's bed. The young Hart watched his every move without saying anything, but his dark eyes were shining with adoration and warmth.  
Reaching out and taking Harry's hand felt like the most natural thing in the world. Feeling a strange tingle when the skin touched skin, hearing a quiet gasp stutter through Harry's lips, leaning closer…  
"I don't think this is a good idea, Dair," came Harry's whisper a second before Alasdair's lips touched his forehead, and the Scot pulled back slightly, grinning.  
"Just a little bit of teasing, my dear," the young man murmured, straightening up but keeping Harry's hand in his. "How are you feeling?"  
"Excellent, considering that I thought this day would be my last," the young Hart smiled. "Good thing I figured out the bit with the medal, and you were there to answer my call."  
"You were lucky to get all of us in one place," Alasdair commented, stroking Harry's hand with the tips of his fingers. "Not to mention Bors being a healer and mending all the hurts that you received because of me."  
"Doesn't matter now, does it?" Harry murmured, eyes half-lidded and voice slurred a bit. "Whoa, I feel drunk. Why is that?"  
"Because of me, I think," the young Scot let go of his soulmate's hand and reluctantly rolled his chair away from the bed. "I should let you rest. You need to sleep and recover your strength."  
"I'd rather you stayed, but asking for your undivided attention would be selfish," Harry strained to touch his soulmate, and Alasdair, unable to resist the pull of the bond, was back within reach. "My god, this is ridiculous. How the hell I'm supposed to handle being the candidate if I can't imagine being apart from you even for a moment?"  
"I was told it gets easier with time," the Scot reassured, his hand once again touching his partner's skin reverently. "Besides, Kingsman training process is quite exciting, so I bet you would not have time to think about anything else. Or anyone, for that matter."  
Harry tilted his head to the right. "Well, if I remember correctly, you are supposed to be my mentor, so we're going to see each other quite often."  
Alasdair suddenly found the bedside table extremely fascinating. "Ah, about that…"  
The young Hart reached out, carefully grasped his soulmate's chin and tilted his head up. "Something's the matter, Dair?"  
"Unfortunately, yes," the Scot replied, his tone apologetic. "According to Kingsman rules, soulmates are forbidden from being involved in training process as mentor and candidate. I have no choice but to pass my mentorship to another knight. But don't worry, the person in question is my Guide, agent Bors, and he is going to take a good care of you."  
"Here I was, wondering where the proverbial catch is going to be," Harry grinned. "Now I know. Well, if you say this agent Bors is good, I have nothing to worry about. Am I to be allowed to see you from time to time, though? Or the training is going to be 24/7?"  
"No, of course not," Alasdair reassured. "There are even a few days off, when you can leave the training base. We can spend part of those days together, if you want."  
"Only part of them? You mean like couple of hours?" the young Hart looked disappointed. "I was hoping for more, to tell the truth."  
"So was I, until yesterday," the Scot raised his eyebrows. "Then I saw a strange dream, got cursed and rescued by my uncle's soulmate. After that said soulmate, who happened to be our Merlin, prepared to die and passed his responsibilities to me. That's the long and short of it, basically."  
"But he didn't die, otherwise you would've mentioned that," Harry remarked thoughtfully. "Why not return those responsibilities back to him?"  
"Because he bonded with my uncle yesterday, and they happen to be Destined," Alasdair explained. "I have no right to endanger their bond, it's too fragile. My uncle is no longer a field agent due to his injuries, and Vincent – our previous Merlin – barely managed to escape death. They both deserve a quiet retirement."  
"But if I am to become a knight, risk to our own bond is inevitable, don't you think?" Harry said softly. "Still sure you want to go forth with my proposal?"  
"Having regrets already, my dear?" Alasdair smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.  
"God forbid, just making sure you know what are you doing," Harry objected. "When I was a boy, father told me about my grandfather's death. He was Galahad, right?"  
"Yes, but..," the Scot frowned. "Wait a minute, when we first met, you told me…"  
"I didn't know if I could trust you," Harry admitted easily, and then swiftly locked his fingers around Alasdair's wrist when he tried to pull his hand away. "Ah, no, you don't get to leave me now, don't even bother trying."  
Alasdair huffed in annoyance and tried to pull his hand out of Harry's grip – to no avail, of course. "You lied to me, and you expect me to trust you after that?"  
"Tit for tat," the young Hart smirked. "You didn't tell me the whole truth either. About us being soulmates."  
Ceasing his struggle, Alasdair reverted to glaring at his insufferably smug soulmate. "I didn't want to scare you, that's all! And besides, what I was supposed to say? 'Hello, Harry, I'm your soulmate and Guardian, let's find our third together?'"  
"Something along those lines, yes," Harry said quietly, causing Alasdair to snap out of his irritation and look at him in surprise. "The thing is, my dearest one, I saw you in my dreams long before we met. Meeting you for real… I probably acted like a complete fool, but I just couldn't help it. It was a moment of 'now or never', if you know what I mean."  
"I know," the Scot confirmed quietly, and they both fell silent for a few moments.  
Harry was the first to speak, pulling both of them back to reality. "So… you're staying? I know you have a ceremony or something in the morning, but…"  
Alasdair simply pulled up a control panel and transformed his chair into an impromptu bed. "We still have time."  
Harry smiled, let go of Alasdair's wrist and laced their fingers together. "Sweet dreams, Dair."  
"Sweet dreams, Harry," the Scot shifted a little, getting comfortable, and then promptly fell asleep.  
Gingerly turning onto his side and reaching out, Harry gently run his fingers through Alasdair's hair. "So soft… Shame you're going to lose them because of me…"  
Alasdair nudged his palm sleepily and murmured something. Harry smiled again, reached for the remote on his bedside table and turned the lights off. Their new life was about to begin in a couple of hours, and getting some sleep wouldn't have hurt, especially with Alasdair by his side – Harry doubted that during his training he would be allowed such a luxury. The Scot was his, Harry knew, but they journey as soulmates was just beginning, and he needed to be strong enough to handle it.  
With that in mind, he finally let the deep slumber claim him…

* * *

Waking up while being watched felt familiar. A hand, stroking his hair gently – not so much, but at least Alasdair knew to whom it belonged. Harry's scent was all around him, blanketing and protecting, and Alasdair smiled, opening his eyes and meeting warm brown gaze of his soulmate.  
"I do realise today is a special occasion, but please tell me our awakenings aren't going to be public from now on," Harry murmured, his fingers deftly smoothing back Alasdair's hair and bringing them in a some semblance of order.  
"Only if you manage not to live up to expectations," somebody responded in amused tone. "Would be a shame to leave our Dair unsatisfied, wouldn't it?"  
"Uncle," the man in question grumbled, rolling his eyes, and Harry turned his head to meet Maxwell's gaze.  
"Most amusing, sir, although I doubt you're going to get such an opportunity," the young Hart replied cheekily, daring the older man to challenge him.  
Dair's uncle, predictably, didn't rise to the bait. "I really hope so, my boy. Now, as you both seeming to be fine - and isn't that quite a trick on your part, - would you be so kind to help Dair with his ceremonial suit? We will wait for you both outside."  
Harry hadn't had time to reply as Maxwell and other two visitors left the room simultaneously, leaving him and Alasdair looking at each other in confusion.  
"So that was your uncle," Harry said thoughtfully. "And the other two..."  
"One is my uncle's soulmate, who happen to be my predecessor as Merlin, his name is Vincent, and the other is my Guide, agent Bors, his name is Cedric," Alasdair replied, eyeing his ceremonial suit. It was simple but elegant – black velvet with gold stripes along the edge of the cuffs and lapels, and with gold Kingsman logo on the breast pocket.  
"Looks classy as hell," the young Hart's voice brought Alasdair back to reality. "I was sort of expecting the real mantle, I guess, but this is much better. Need any help?"  
"They even brought me the underwear," the Scot muttered, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "I need to use the bathroom first. Alone, preferably," he added hastily, seeing Harry starting to get out of bed. "I may probably need your help afterwards with holding myself upwards. When you are in a wheelchair, getting into suit is a complete nightmare."  
"I can imagine," Harry said, watching Alasdair fiddle with the chair's controls. "Don't hesitate to yell for me if something goes wrong in the bathroom."  
"I'll keep that in mind," Alasdair made a swift detour for his underwear and threw the hanger with his suit in the direction of the bed, causing Harry to scramble madly in order to catch it. "Keep it till I get back, please," the Scot grinned, directing his wheelchair towards the bathroom.  
Harry placed the suit on the bed and threw a pillow in Alasdair's direction in reply...

* * *

Getting out of bathroom never seemed so complicated – and not due to physical reasons, physically he could manage just fine. The main problem was behind the door – no matter how highly trained he was, letting somebody see him in vulnerable state was the hardest thing to do, especially when said somebody happened to be his soulmate.  
Harry, however, managed to solve his problem by carefully knocking on the bathroom door first, and gently coaxing Alasdair out after.  
Everything that happened afterwards hadn't been in any way sexually driven, but Harry and Alasdair mutually decided not to mention it to others. Actually, all Harry did is to help Alasdair to get into the suit, but he did it with such reverence and tenderness that Alasdair was almost delirious with pleasure by the end of it. The hardest (no pun intended) moment was when Harry straightened his tie – it took all Alasdair's willpower not to grab Harry and kiss him, sealing their bond. Harry seemed to catch this vibe and pulled away, patting Alasdair's shoulder consolingly.  
Two minutes later they were in the corridor, both calm and collected, and if any of three older agents waiting for them had noticed something, they didn't mention it.  
Getting a suit for Harry took some time, but finally their small group stood in front of the double doors to the ballroom.  
"Ready, boyo?" Cedric placed his hand on Alasdair's shoulder, squeezing slightly.  
The Scot nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and a moment later felt Harry's hand on his other shoulder.  
"Excellent," Vincent took a step forward and pushed the heavy doors open. "Let's get started, gentlemen."


End file.
